



ms QBMD 


FOB SPIII HOBBS, 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY, NICHOLS AND COMPANY. 


No. Ill Washington Street. 



















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<CJlt. #ii ^liusant (Cnmjntnians. 


i. 

LITTLE FREDDY AND HIS FIDDLE. From the German of A. L. Grimm. 
Translated by Madame de Chatelaine. With other Stories from the German. 
Illustrated with Thirty Engravings. 

n. 

SADDLER MULLER’S WENDELL. By Mary Howitt. With other Tales. Illus- 
trated with Twenty-five Engravings. 

m. 

LITTLE LIZZIE AND THE FAIRIES; and SUNNY HAIR’S DREAM. 
By Dinah Maria Mulock. With other Tales. Illustrated with Twenty-four En- 
gravings. 

IV. 

TONY THE SLEEPLESS. An Original Tale. By Madame de Chatelain. With 
other Stories. Illustrated with Twenty-seven Engravings. 

V. 

THE ROAD TO FORTUNE. By R. Reimick. With other Tales. Illustrated 
with Twenty-three Engravings. 

VI. 

FINIKIN AND HIS GOLD PIPPINS. An Original Tale. By Madame do 
Chatelain. With other Stories. Illustrated with Twenty-one Engravings. 













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In (Original €a\ t 


D V 


MADAME DE CHATEL AIN. 

M 


WITH OTHER TALES. 


ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY-SEVEN ENGRAVINGS. 


BOSTON 

CROSBY, NICHOLS AND COMPANY, 

No. Ill Washington Street. 






























- Transfer 

! ■ Engl neers School U by. 

June 29,1931 










CONTENTS 


PAGE 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. By Madame de Chatelain, 211 

OUY FAUX DAY. By Mary Roberts, 223 

THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. By Dinah Maria Mulock, . . . .225 

CHRISTMAS DAY. By Mary Roberts, 235 

GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. A Norwegian Legend, . . .237 

THE ASH, 242 

THE CHILD AND THE BEE. By Mrs. James Whittle, . . . .244 

THE STORK, 250 

THE MILL IN THE SEA, 251 

THE LIME, 255 

THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. By Madame de Chatelain, . . .257 

BOYS SLIDING ON THE ICE, 267 

PUSS AND THE CHICKENS, . . . .269 

THE COCK AND HEN WHO WENT A-NUTTING, 270 

SWALLOWS’ NESTS, .. 273 

A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. By Mrs. Harriet Myrtle, . 


277 


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Tony the Sleepless, 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 

AN ORIGINAL TALE, BY MADAME DE CHATELAIN. 

There was once a huntsman who lived in a fine old forest, 
abounding in all sorts of game; so that what with selling the skins 
of some of the beasts he killed, and eating others, he managed to 
make a very fair livelihood. All day long he roamed about under 
the green leaves, and when night came he retired to a neat cottage, 
surrounded by a trim little garden that he cultivated in his leisure 
hours. 

Tony had led this life for some years, and was known all over 
the district as the boldest huntsman and liveliest companion for 
many miles round, when one evening, as he was returning home by 
moonlight, his path was intercepted by a strange-looking figure, 
that was himself more like a moonbeam than a “ proper man,” so 
transparent and impalpable did he look, and so unusually bright 
were his eyes. Had it not been for a kind of pack that he carried 
on his shoulder, giving the comfortable assurance that he belonged 
to the corps of wandering pedlars, a stouter heart than Tony's 
might have been excused for a temporary flutter at the sight of such 
a phantom-like appearance, who however asked him, in quite a 
natural voice, whether he could shew him the way out of the forest. 
Tony answered that it would be easy enough to do so, but that as 
the next village was a considerable way off, and there 'were no inns 
thereabouts, he had better come home with him, and sleep under 
his roof, and not attempt to go any further till next morning. 

All this Tony said partly from his inherent good nature and 
hospitable feelings, and partly — shall we confess it ? — to bluster 
himself, as it were, into the conviction that there was nothing 
unearthly about this singular visitant. 

“ Sleep !” repeated the stranger, while his eyes appeared to 
dilate, and his singular, discordant laugh, shook the very leaves of 
the oldest trees ; “ I don't think I'm likely to get any sleep, unless 
you'll sell me some : but I’ll accept a night's lodging, and thank 
you too.” 

Tony now concluded he was a harmless madman, who had 
got some strange crotchet into his head, and without any furthei 
ado he shewed him the way to his cottage, promising himself some 
amusement in drawing out his peculiarities. On reaching his 
humble dwelling, the stranger laid aside his pack, while Tony brought 
out all the materials for a substantial supper, accompanied by a 


o 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


pitcher of beer, to which he invited his transparent-looking compa- 
nion, with the heartiest welcome. 

“ And pray, friend,” said Tony, as they sat down to their meal, 
“ what sort of goods do you hawk about ?” 

“ All sorts of strange things,” replied the pedlar, fixing his keen 
eyes upon his host. “ My pack is like a pack of cards, containing 
good and ill luck.” 

Tony laughed at this evasive answer, and without shewing fur- 
ther curiosity to penetrate his guest's secrets, let him run on to 
other subjects ; keeping so little on the defensive himself, that after 
a scrambling, skirmishing sort of conversation, he had placed hi3 
whole biography at the disposal of his new friend by the time sup- 
per was over, without having received the slightest equivalent in ex- 
change. For the stranger had such a fascinating way of talking of 
so many wonderful things that Tony had never heard of, that he 
would have been loath to interrupt him with any needless questions. 

At length, however, it waxed late, and being accustomed to early 
hours, Tony could no longer resist the drowsiness that stole upon 
him ; so he offered his bed to the stranger, and was about to lie 
down upon some skins in a corner, when the latter assured him that 
his bedtime was not yet come, and moreover, that he preferred 
spending the night on a chair. Tony therefore laid himself down, 
and had soon sunk into that deep sleep that hard exercise and a 
healthy constitution can alone promote. 

A third of the night had scarcely past, before he was roused by 
the stranger’s voice, saying, 

“ Holla, master, it must be near upon morning by now !” 

Tony opened his reluctant eyelids “ Tush ! man,” cried he, 
" you’re mistaking the moonlight for dawn ; can’t you let a body 
sleep in peace ?” 

And suiting the action to the word, he turned round, and was 
presently snoring to his heart’s content. The stranger fidgeted 
about on his chair, then got up and walked, then sat down and took 
patience for a while; but, by the time two-thirds of the night had 
worn away, he again called out to Tony that it must surely be 
morning. 

Tony again opened his eyes unwillingly, and perceiving that 
there were no signs of dawn yet, and judging from his remissness 
that his usual hour for rising could not be come, was half provoked 
at this second disturbance, and answered, “ Get up, and go whitner 
you please, but let other people sleep.” 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 3 

“ Sleep !" muttered the stranger ; " one would think sleep were 
the only thing to be prized in the whole world !" 

But the remark died away unheeded, for his host was proving 
the value he set upon it, by having quickly snatched back his 
treasure. 

The stranger was therefore obliged to take patience till the first 
streaks of dawn really appeared in the sky, when he began to unbolt 
the door, rattle his chair, and make all kinds of noises to supply the 
place of words, in order to avoid the ungracious task of again re- 
minding his host to be stirring. Tony, however, soon woke of him- 
self, and springing blithely from his bed, — “ Now I’m your man/* 
said he, “ and will roam all over the forest with you, if you like; — 
at least, when we've had our breakfast." 

Then perceiving that the stranger looked neither fatigued nor 
rested by the night he had passed, and that his deep-sunk eyes 
flashed as restlessly as ever, he could not help observing, “ You're 
an odd man to be so wakeful. Are you in such a hurry to be gone?" 

The stranger shook his head negatively. 

“ If you’re often as restless as to-night," continued Tony, “you’ll 
wear your strength out ; so now sit down, and make up for it by a 
good hearty meal." 

“ Oh ! ” replied the stranger, taking his seat at table, “ it is all 
a matter of custom. I have spent the last eighteen months in this 
same manner, and my health is none the worse for it." 

Tony laid down his knife and stared at the stranger in amaze- 
ment. 

“ What ! without a wink of sleep ?" 

“ Without a wink," repeated the stranger. 

“ Then you must be Old Nick himself!" cried Tony, starting to 
his feet, with a creeping sensation of horror, that he experienced 
for the first time in his life. 

“ Sit down again, my fine fellow," said the pedlar, laughing at 
the fright he had occasioned; “ and be assured that, whenever I 
find an opportunity of getting a year or two years’ good sleep in 
exchange for my wares, I never let it slip. But more of this anon. 
Now answer a plain question — What makes you so very fond of 
sleep ?" 

“ Why," said Tony, scarcely knowing how to reply to a ques- 
tion, embarrassing from its very simplici v, “ why, when one's tired 
by hunting all day, a man wants sleep, to be sure." 

“ But suppose you were rich, and only hunted for pleasure, and 


4 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


had a fine palace, with vassals and servants, and could be enter- 
tained, night and day, with all sorts of rare devices — then would 
you mind about sleeping ?” 

“ I suppose I should still feel sleepy when night came?” said 
Tony. 

“ But if the want of sleep were prevented ?” persisted the 
stranger. 

“ Then,” said Tony, “ it might be vastly pleasant to live double, 
and enjoy one’s self incessantly.” 

“ Shall it be a bargain ? ” inquired the stranger. “ Will you 
live in a fine house and become a prince, and sell me seven years' 
sleep ?” 

“ But how can I do so ?” asked the bewildered Tony. 

“ Leave that to me,” replied the stranger. “ Do you consent ? 
Once — twice — thrice ! ” 

“ I will,” chimed in Tony, led away by the splendid prospect 
that opened before him. 

The stranger then took out of his pack a small, richly- 
wrought silver bell, and handed it over to Tony, saying, “ You 
can ring for whatever you want, and it will be yours di- 



rectly. At the end of seven years, if you ring for me, we can 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


5 


renew our bargain for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, if you 
please.” 

“ But,” said Tony, prudently, “ suppose I were to get tired of 
never sleeping before tbe seven years are out ?” 

“You can ring for sleep on tbe last day of each year,” re- 
plied the stranger ; “ but take heed that your palace will crumble 
away, never more to return.” 

These last words were pronounced in a sleepy voice by the 
stranger, who had already sunk back in his chair, and was soon 
making the most of his purchase. 

“A palace — a palace !” cried Tony, ringing away like mad. 

The cottage immediately spread out and became a magnificent 
marble hall, with countless pillars, and this was but the entry to a 
princely building. The little garden grew and grew till it became 
at least equal in size and beauty to the far-famed gardens of the 
Boromean Isles, and the forest formed a noble boundary to the 
estate. The palace was full of servants and lords-in-waiting, and 
every thing was on the most splendid scale. Tony looked round 
for the pedlar, in order to express his admiration, but he was 
nowhere to be seen. He then went all over the palace, and 
looked at its pictures and curiosities, and marvelled at all he 
saw — still more when he recollected that every thing belonged to 
him ; and when he had admired his fill, he rang for dinner. 
This was served up very sumptuously, and his lords-in-waiting 
sat round the board, and strove who should amuse him most with 
their wit and drollery. Tony, who had never tasted such dainty 
fare in his life, made a hearty meal; but though he ate of all 
the dishes, and drank several goblets of wine, he did not feel the 
least in dined for a nap on leaving table, so he consulted his com- 
panions how he had best spend the evening. They advised him to 
play at different games, which each offered to teach his “ High- 
ness,” for so they addressed him ; and accordingly cards were 
fetched, and Tony endeavoured to acquire the rudiments of the 
easiest game that could be thought of. But after puzzling a good 
deal over it, he found it such insipid work that, recollecting how 
merry they had been at dinner, he proposed they should now go to 
supper. The lords-in-waiting consented, as in duty bound, and the 
supper lasted a long time, being interspersed with songs and 
anecdotes. After a time, however, in spite of their efforts to the 
contrary, the spirits of the guests began to fiag ; and though 
Tony kept occasionally goading them on, by calling out, " Come, 


6 


TOIsY THE SLEEPLESS. 


my lads, go on amusing me; no song no supper, you know!” 
Nature would assume her rights, and, by degrees, one lord-in- 
waiting dropped fast asleep after another. 

When his “ Highness ” found himself thus left alone, and as 
wakeful as ever, he began to think it vastly tiresome ; and, after 
several vain endeavours to wake his suite to a sense of politeness, 
by pelting them with balls of bread, which he kept kneading be- 
tween his fingers, he desired his valet to shew him to his room, 
thinking, from habit, that if he lay down on a bed he must, perforce, 
go to sleep. No such result, however, occurred; so, after tossing 
about for a couple of hours, he got up and dressed himself, and walked 
out into the forest to pass away the time. The night happened to 
prove rainy, and Tony, in his fine clothes and thin shoes, got wet to 
the skin, and returned home with a violent cold and stiff neck, 
which forced him to keep his bed for three days — a thing which 
had never happened to him in all his life, and which was rendered 
doubly irksome by his not being able to forget himself a moment 
in the blessings of sleep. 

As soon as he had recovered, Tony thought the best way of 
amusing himself wnuld be to take to his former occupation of 
hunting — only on a grander scale. So he rang for a pack of 
hounds and huntsmen, and sallied forth with all his retinue. But 
after hunting all day his lords-in-waiting were so tired that they 
fell asleep much earlier than usual, so Tony found himself thrown 
upon his own resources all the sooner. He then thought he would 
fill up the night by a torch-light hunt ; but, on calling for his 
men, he was told they had all gone to bed, and that the dogs were 
fast asleep in their kennels. 

“ Confound it \ ” cried Tony; “ what makes them all so fond of 
sleep ? Is there nobody can keep awake like me V’ 

He forgot that the pedlar had asked him a similar question. 

He then rang the bell for a fresh set of huntsmen and pack of 
hounds, and roamed over the forest all night, and did not come 
home till sunrise. In this manner he got through several days ; 
but at last even his sturdy frame grew so tired that he was obliged 
to stay at home, at any rate during the nights. Then he rang for 
another set of lords-in-waiting, that they might relieve each other, 
and that somebody might always be with him to entertain him ; 
though, even so, he found it very difficult to get them to keep up 
the ball, as the liveliest are apt to flag after exerting their powers 
during several consecutive hours. 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


7 


“ How shall 1 manage to pass away time?” thought Tony, one 
morning. “ Do what I will there are four-and-twenty hours in the 
day. I have every thing at command, and don't know what to 
ask for.” 

Then he called his suite together, both the day suite and the 
night suite, — which he termed, more facetiously than correctly, re- 
viewing his wardrobe, — and told them he would make the fortune 
of any one who would suggest something new to help to amuse 
him. 

One of the lords then stepped forward and said, " Please, your 
Highness, I have at home five daughters, all young and beautiful. 
If I might be allowed to introduce them, their wit might help to 
entertain your Highness.” 

“ Capital ! ” cried Tony ; “ I always liked the lasses. Pll marry 
one of them, and we'll have a ball. Go and fetch them directly.” 

While the lord went off to obey his commands Tony sent all the 
others to fetch either their sisters or cousins, or whatever female 
relations they might have ; and then he rang for all that was neces- 
sary for a grand ball, as well as for a hundred damsels, with each 
her partner, all handsome and splendidly dressed, in order that it 
might not seem a mere family party. 

There never was such a galaxy of beauty as appeared on that 
night at Tony's ball. But when the old lord came in with his five 
daughters, they were lovelier than any of the other ladies, not ex- 
cepting the belles of the ball. Tony danced with each of them in 
turn, and then chose the youngest for his bride. 

" Now this,” cried the lord of the mansion, “ is something like ! 
— I’ll hunt all day and have a ball every night, and that will carry 
me on to the wedding. And when I'm married time won't hang so 
heavy on my hands.” 

Saying and doing was one with Tony, and accordingly balls 
were regularly the order of the night , and they danced and danced 
so many nights running, that every body was completely knocked 
up ; and even Tony, though nothing could make him sleepy, was 
quite tired of whirling about. 

Then followed his wedding ; and he rang for sumptuous presents 
for his bride and her sisters, and all his household, including his lords- 
in-waiting and their families ; and there was a long series of merry- 
makings, balls, concerts, hunts, and water-parties, and Tony's bride 
was the admired of all beholders. 

After this holiday existence had lasted some time, Tony, finding 


8 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


that every one seemed to require rest, thought he would likewise 
enjoy a little quiet ; so he dismissed the supernumerary guests, and 
began to lead a more domestic life. But if he found it so difficult 
to fill up the extra hours of his existence in a perpetual round of 
dissipation, the time seemed to hang still heavier on his hands in 
the dead calm that succeeded to all these diversions. Besides this, 
there arose some little bickerings between himself and his bride, 
which did not help to mend the matter. Tony f«lt vexed that his 
■wife should feel drowsy, and often drop off to sleep as they sat by 
the fireside; and she, on her part, declared that a husband who 
never slept was perfectly insupportable, and but that her papa had 
concealed this peculiarity from her, she would never have married 
one who was so cursed. Tony retorted that, far from being cursed, 
it only proved him to be a superior being ; and, from little to much, 
they grew so warm on the subject, that he said she had better take 
care or he would ring the house down. 

“ I don't care if you do/’ replied she. 

But then Tony recollected that he must wait till the end of the 
year before he could throw up his bargain ; so, making a virtue of 
necessity, he said he wouldn't proceed to such lengths till he had 
given her more time to reflect, and he rushed out of the house in a 
passion, and went into the forest to cool himself. 

“ I wish I could meet my friend the pedlar," thought he ; “ but 
of course he is not such a fool as to be losing his time, but is 
sound asleep somewhere. Really this wakefulness begins to be 
intolerable ! " 

Then, after a minute's reflection, he brightened up ; and, taking 
out his bell, he rang it sharply, crying out, “ I want some guests as 
sleepless as myself ! " 

A faint rustling was immediately heard amongst the leaves, and, 
in another moment, Tony found himself surrounded on all sides by 
troops of elves. The branches of the trees were full of them, and. 
they were scattered about on the grass in such quantities that Tony 
feared making a step, lest he should crush myriads of the little people. 

“ Hey- day !" cried Tony, “ here are guests with a vengeance ! 

Talk of the but no, that wouldn't be civil. But tell me, fair 

lady," continued he, “ addressing one who appeared the queen of 
the troop, “who you are, and where you come from ?" 

“ My name is Starlight," replied she, “ and I come from a long 
way hence at your reauest. Now tell me what you want, only 
make naste, lor my time is short." 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


9 


“ Why," said Tony, “ I want you and your people to keep me 
company, as I can't go to sleep. And if my house is not large 
enough to hold you, it shall be increased to the size of the nearest 
market-town." 

“ We cannot stay with you," said the queen, smiling, “ or the 
world would be left in darkness. We watch while others sleep. 
But I can endow any one you wish with sleeplessness." 

Tony was overjoyed at this proposal, and begged the queen to 
make his wife sleepless. 

“ Where is she ?" said Starlight. 

Tony led her into the house, where they found the young wife 
still in her chair, but fast asleep, from the exhaustion caused Dy the 
late hours she was always keeping. Starlight touched her eyelids 
with her wand, and she immediately woke up, and, seeing Tony 
smile, inquired why he had disturbed her. “ I thought you had 
slept long enough," said he, and he turned round to wink at the 
fairy, but she was gone. 

“Well, I think I haye," said his wife, smiling in her turn, “for 
I no longer feel sleepy." 

In the joy of the moment Tony embraced her, and could not 
resist telling her all that had happened ; adding, “ Now we shall be 
quite comfortable." 

But his wife was horror-struck at the thought of being reduced 
to the same plight as himself. Having been bred a fine lady, she 
had always found time hang rather heavily on her hands, and she 
now looked with dismay at the additional burden that was put upon 
her. She therefore heaped the bitterest reproaches on Tony, who 
now began to think he had perhaps acted foolishly for their mutual 
interest. And, indeed, from that day there was no peace in the 
house for the servants, who were rung up at all hours of the night ; 
nor for the lords and ladies in waiting, who were incessantly called 
upon to settle disputes between their “ Highnesses,” who, having 
double the time, had of course double the number of quarrels to 
wbat other couples are subject to. 

At length the year — which was two years to Tony — drew to its 
close. He had now had his fill of grandeur, and feasting, and being 
waited upon; yet he was sitting, from mere habit, at a splendid 
banquet — which was his family dinner — and eating off golden plates, 
at a table luxuriously spread, and ornamented with vases of flowers, 
and groups of silver statues bearing tapers. 


10 


TONY THE SLEEPLESS. 


“ This is all very fine,” thought he ; “ but somehow I used to 
eat with more appetite.” 

His wife inquired if the dinner were not to his liking, that he 
sat staring before him without touching his food. 

“ It is well enough,” replied Tony, “ only I was thinking that 
there is one thing wanting.” 

“What is that ?” asked she. 

“ A good nap after dinner,” answered Tony. 

“Why does not your Highness ring for it?” said one of the 
courtiers ; “ a prince like yourself can surely command any thing.” 

Courtiers always flatter princes to their ruin ! 

This reminded Tony that it was the last day of the year, which 
he had overlooked in the monotonous kind of life he was leading, 
where yesterday so closely resembles to-morrow ; and, snatching up 
his bell, he cried, “ Faith I will ! ” Then, after pausing one second, 
as if to ask himself — Shall I bear it another year for all these fine 
things ? he rang away like mad, calling out, “ A nap ! a nap ! a 
nap ! ” 

The palace immediately collapsed like a soap-bubble — banquet, 
wife, lords and ladies in waiting, and all — and Tony found himself 
on the floor of his cottage, which had shrunk back to its primitive 
dimensions. 

The pedlar started from the chair in which he had sunk to sleep, 
crying out, “ Already ?” 

“Ha ! ha!” cried Tony, parodying his former words, “what 
makes you so fond of sleep ? ” 

“ Why, man,” said the pedlar, “ couldn't you wait till the end 
of seven years before you pulled down your palace ? ” 

“ Don't talk to me of palaces ! ” quoth Tony ; “ nature bids us 
eat when we're hungry, and sleep when we're sleepy, and I have 
uow learnt the value of a good nap.” 

So the pedlar took back his silver bell and went his ways, yawn- 
ing, and evidently much disappointed, while Tony went off to sleep ; 
and I never heard that as long as he lived he ever regretted pulling 
his house about his ears. 
















Guy Faux Day. 




GUY FAUX DAY. 


13 


GUY FAUX DAY. 

BY MARY ROBERTS. 

Strange it seemed, to those who had lived in the country all 
their days, when, on the fifth of November, instead of ruddy boys 
and farm-servants, with familiar faces, asking for pence towards 
making a bonfire on the village green, came, rushing down the 
street, barking dogs, and half-grown sweeps, with a motley group 
of urchins, clamouring and shouting as if to demand a subsidy. 
And most oddly were some of them attired, in gaudy dresses with 
pointed caps upon their heads and short truncheons in their hands. 
Four or five of the strongest upheld a grotesque kind of hand- 
barrow, on which was seated an effigy in still more extraordinary 
habiliments. Well might the dog begin to rage and the cat run 
away to hide herself, for they both came from the country and 
never heard such incongruous sounds before. 

It seemed as if the bearers were somewhat weary, for they set 
down the car, and him who rode therein, on the grass-plot before 
the door ; strange contrast to the late-blowing rose, with its lin- 
gering flowers that shed their fragrance above his head. A looker- 
on might have moralised concerning the beauty and repose of those 
sweet flowers, types of all loveliness, when contrasted with the 
painted and bedizened boys and their ragged followers, who stood 
that day beside the rose-tree. “ Please your honour, a penny. 
•’Tis but once a-year. A penny for burning old Guy. Hurra !” 
The penny was soon given, and away they went, old Guy, his 
bearers and attendants, shouting and dancing down the street. 
Take care, methought, how you go, or Guy will tumble in the mud. 

Through many a crowded street and across many a wide square, 
with their grandly fronted houses, went on that wild company. 
Guy jolting and shaking in his car, and his attendants clamouring 
for the accustomed penny. You remember, playmates, how we 
watched them from place to place. But never were they seen to 
venture down one of those narrow alleys which diverge from the 
principal streets. They dreaded a rescue for master Guy; for 
themselves, the rushing forth of Irish matrons with mops and 
broomsticks. 


14 


GUY FAUX DAY. 


Presently another Guy was seen coming through the crowd, 
numerously attended, and having his car upborne by older boys. 
The car was large, and fantastically adorned, with a huge barrel 
and fagot tied behind, and in front sat an effigy nearly as large as 
life, dressed in the costume of King James’s days. He had a 
peaked beard, and doublet, high-heeled shoes, and white stockings 
with knee-bows and buckles. A ruff adorned his neck ; and he 
looked far more like a gallant going to a ball, or masque, than a 
malefactor being taken to execution. But there are strange con- 
trarieties in all human exhibitions, and boys like to mimic the 
actings of men. The poet tells us that lessons may be learned 
from brooks and stones; how much more from exhibitions such 
as these? 



THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


15 



BY DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 

Walter Rutherford sat busily engaged in drawing. He 
had placed himself close to the window of his mother's drawing- 
room, and was striving to copy a beautiful statuette, which she 
loved, before the twilight came on. At his feet nestled his young 
sister Marion, looking up every now and then to see how he was 
going on, and near him sat this dear mother, who shared in all the 
enthusiastic dreams of the boy-artist. The little group were very 
silent; Walter was so intent upon his work, and the others did not 
like to disturb him. 


16 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


The boy at last lifted his head, looked long and earnestly at 
the statuette, then at his own drawing, and said with a half sigh, — • 

“ Ah ! mother, how I wish I hacl genius ! how I wish I could 
be a great artist ! ” 

Mrs. Rutherford smiled. “ Do not despair, my dear boy ; 
remember that every man of genius was once young like you. 
All things must have a beginning. The path to excellence is 
always hard ; but is rarely unattainable by those who set out with 
patience, and firmness, and hope. I do not say that you will be 
one of these great men, Walter; but still you have nothing to 
contend with, compared to some of them, who triumphed over all 
difficulties. Should you like to hear a story of what courage and 
perseverance can do ?” 

Walter looked delighted, and little Marion clapped her hands in 
glee, with the oft-repeated childish cry of “ Oh, mamma, do tell us 
a story !” 

Mrs. Rutherford began. — 

“ Nearly eighty years ago there lived, in one of the towns on 
the sea-coast of Iceland, a poor ship-carver and his family. Little 
means had he to keep hunger and cold from his wife and little 
ones in that freezing climate, where, for one half the year, the sun 
is never seen. Bitter as poverty is in our own pleasant England, 
how fearful it must be in cold, bleak Iceland! The ship-carver 
worked night and day — in winter-time it was always night — in 
making figure-heads for vessels. Some of them were ugly, indeed, 
— all were rude and clumsy ; yet he was considered a good work- 
man in his way. But few ships came into the port, and the poor 
wood- carver's employment grew less day by day. His delicate 
yet uncomplaining wife became paler and thinner, and his little 
children pined away, until their rosy faces grew sickly and meagre. 
Winter was coming, and the father shuddered at the prospect; for, 
to the houseless and fireless, an Iceland winter is almost certain 
death. The ship-carver thought much, and then said to his wife, — 

" ‘ If we stay here we must starve ; for I can get no work, and 
we have no money. Let us ask that good Captain Christiansund 
to take us in his ship to Copenhagen, where I have heard that 
many vessels are always coming in, and there is plenty of 
work.* 

“ The pale wife looked round the bare walls of their hut and 
shivered. ( Must we leave home, and see Iceland no more V And 
then the babe at her bosom gave vent to a low, wailing cry. ‘ The 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


IT 


child will die of hunger/ she muttered. f Husband, every where 
is home with you ; we will go to Copenhagen/ 

“And so they went. The good captain recommended the poor 
Icelander, and he got employment in his own trade. His wife 
looked less pale, — the children throve apace, and after a time 
another son was born to them, whom they called Bertel. Little 
Bertel grew up a sw T eet, fair-haired child, — his father's darling. In 
the summer-time, when the ships came into the port, the ship- 
carver and his family were very happy,- for then the father had 
plenty of w r ork. Every day he went cheerfully to his labour, and 
toiled all day at wood-carving, singing old Icelandic songs ; while 
little Bertel played about his feet, watching him, and dancing with 
ecstasy, as he saw the figure assume its form under his father’s 
hands. 

“ But in winter the little family had much to suffer ; for they 
were still very poor, and had to struggle hard to procure the com- 
monest food and clothing. Bertel, young as he was, was their 
greatest comfort. Not only were their eyes gladdened by his 
childish beauty, which not even poverty could destroy, but he had 
that sweet and loving disposition which is above all beauty. He 
bore every hardship without complaining, was always gentle and 
patient, so that his brothers and sisters could not be jealous of the 
love his father shewed him. He tried by every means in his 
power to lighten and assist his mother's daily toil, and to have a 
cheerful smile always awaiting his father. As Bertel grew older, 
his intelligent countenance became thoughtful beyond his years ; 
his father w r as too poor to send him to school, and the boy seldom 
went out to play with other children, but spent his whole time in 
his father's workshop, carving all sorts of fanciful things with the 
spare tools out of the rejected pieces of wood. Sometimes the 
ship-carver would stop in his work and glance at his little son, who 
sat so contentedly in a corner, as busy with his childish task as if 
it had been something very important. 

“ By degrees the boy’s employment began to assume more con- 
sequence in his father's eyes. The ship-carver would come and 
look over Bertel's shoulder while he worked, and call him ‘ a good 
boy,' and ( a clever boy,' until the child's bright blue eyes fairly 
danced -with pleasure. At last Bertel was promoted to the high 
honour of assisting his father in carving figure-heads ; and now he 
was indeed proud, for not only was he able to lighten his father's 
work, but even to add to his earnings. Most happy was the good 


18 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


and dutiful boy in his daily labour, so that many a high-born child 
in that proud capital might have envied the little ship-carver of 
Copenhagen. 

“ One day his father was ill and unable to work ; so that Bertel 
had to finish a figure-head without any assistance. It was to re- 
present a woman’s head; and the captain who ordered it was a 
cross old man, and very hard to be pleased, so that it was no won- 
der if the child of eleven years old felt timid as he began his 
work, of which he had not dared to tell his father. So all that <?lay, 
and the next, did the little boy carve his rough wooden block. 
When the ship-carver returned to his workshop, he saw there a 
head, which he, at least, thought most beautiful. 

“ Bertel, trembling and blushing in answer to his father's in- 
quiries, confessed the secret. The wood-carver took his boy in his 
arms. 

“ ( You will be a cleverer man than your father, my little Bertel. 

I could not have done any thing half so good ! ' 

“In came the cross old captain, but he felt no anger when he 
saw his beautiful figure-head. 

“ ‘ You will be a great man some day, little fellow 1' cried the 
sailor, patting Bertel’s curly head with his huge hand. ‘ Some of 
these days I shall be proud of having your work on the Ulrika.’ 

“ The ship-carver began seriously to think how his son's talents 
might best be cultivated. Though an ignorant man, he saw and 
felt that Bertel, a mere child, could do more than himself, who had 
been years at work at the trade. The good but unlearned father 
thought much on the subject, talked with his wife, and finally 
determined that his boy should learn to draw. 

“There was in Copenhagen an Academy of Arts, something 
like our own, where drawing and modelling were taught gratui- 
tously Bertel's father never ceased his exertions, until the boy 
was admitted to study there. Time and patience had done much 
for the poor Icelander ; he was no longer on the brink of destitu- 
tion : he had always work to do, and he was able to spare his son 
from labour some hours daily, that Bertel might advance in the 
pursuit to which he now devoted himself with such passionate 
eagerness. But not even the practice of his beloved art could keep 
the boy from his duty, and every day he assisted his father in the 
workshop, until the figure-heads which came from thence were 
renowned over all Copenhagen. 

“ The little fair-haired boy who had played in the ship-carver's 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


19 


shop, became a successful and talented student at the Academy ; 
not only had he learnt to draw and model, but he had, by self study, 
remedied the want of early education. At seventeen he was a 
clever and well-informed youth, while in art his talents were won- 
derful, and many were the praises bestowed on him by his in- 
structors and the patrons of the Academy. Yet, with all this suc- 
cess, Bertel was as gentle and simple-minded as he had been in his 
childhood. Ever of a timid and retiring disposition, he aspired no 
higher than to follow his father's trade, and be the support of his 
parents in their old age. But such a destiny was not to be his. 

“At twenty-two, Albert (for he was now called no longer by the 
pet diminutive of Bertel) had gained the highest honours which the 
Danish Academy could bestow. He was the successful competitor 
for a prize, by which the fortunate gainer was chosen to study for 
three years at Rome, with a yearly allowance from the Academy. 
And now the whole fortunes of the young man were changed. He 
was no longer a poor carver in wood, toiling at a mean trade, but 
an artist, — a sculptor, whose rising talents were acknowledged by 
the Academy which had sent him forth. Proud, indeed, were the 
old parents of their darling son, from whose fame they hoped so 
much; and with their consent and blessing, Albert left Copenhagen, 
and went to sunny Italy. 

“ But the troubles of the young man were not yet over. He 
came a stranger to a strange land ; the warm, enthusiastic Italians 
shrank from the reserve and coldness of the young Northman, 
whose nature was so different from their own. Even while they 
admired his talents, they liked him not. But Albert, quiet, patient, 
and persevering, went calmly on his way, entirely engrossed by his 
studies. The allotted three years passed swiftly by, and the young 
sculptor, diligent as he was, had not gained half the knowledge he 
desired. He felt that he stood yet on the very threshold of art. 
But he could not stay longer at Rome, for he had no money, 
and his allowance had expired. Timid and reserved by nature, 
Albert had sought few friends, and no patrons. There were none 
to help him ; he could not support himself in Rome, and in utter 
despair the young sculptor determined to give up all his high 
dreams of success in art, and return to Copenhagen to pursue 
once more his old trade of ship-carving. 

“A few days before the time he had fixed upon to bid adieu for 
ever to Rome and to his art, a stranger visited Albert s studio. 
He was an Englishman who loved art, and had heard by chance ofT 


20 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


the young Northern sculptor. He examined all that the studio 
contained, and was struck with the wonderful genius of the artist, 
who stood by, pale, silent, disconsolate, and almost insensible to the 
warm praises of his guest. 

“ The Englishman stayed long admiring a beautiful statue of 
Jason. Albert turned away with a look of deep sadness. 

“ f I intended,’ said he, ‘ that when fortune smiled on me, this 
work should be a gift to the Academy to which I owe so much ; 
but that will never be/ he added with a sigh. ‘ I must forsake art 
for ever/ 

“ ‘ Why so, my young friend ? ’ asked the Englishman. ‘ You, 
who have done so much ? who have such genius ? ' And he took 
the young artist's hand, and looked in his face with such kindly in- 
terest, that iUbert's reserve was melted, and he told him all. 

“ The Englishman not only gave sympathy but aid. He pur- 
chased the statue at a sum which enabled Albert to continue his 
studies at Rome. The crisis of his fate was past ; his patient en- 
durance was crowned with success, his genius triumphed, and the 
young Dane became one of the noblest sculptors of modern times/' 

“ Mamma, mamma," cried Walter Rutherford, his eyes gleam- 
ing with enthusiasm , — “ is this story really true ?" 

“ It is indeed true," said his mother. 

“ And who — oh ! who was this noble artist ?" 

“ Albert Thorwaldsen." 

Walter started eagerly to his feet. “ Oh ! mamma, I am so 
glad — so very glad. And was the great sculptor once the little boy 
of whom you have told us ?" 

" He was, Walter ; nor have I added any thing in the history of 
his early struggles. His after life you are acquainted with; how 
that he became one of the first sculptors of our day ; and — what is 
more to his praise still — he was, throughout a long life, a good and 
virtuous man." 

“ Wt us ! mamma : is he then dead ? " 

“ Yes : Thorwaldsen died in 1844, at a good old age, which 
made even those who loved and mourned him scarcely regret that 
his course was ended, for it had been a glorious one. At different 
times you have, I think, seen prints or casts from most of Thor- 
waldsen’s works ; and I dare say even my little Marion, whose 
sleepy eyes are just closing, will remember the white bas-reliefs of 
Day and Night on the mantelpiece in the drawing-room." 

Marion looked up smiling. “ Yes, yes, I remember ; those dear 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


21 


little children, fast asleep, creeping close to their mother’s bosom, 
and the crown of poppy-seeds on her head, which you told me, 
Walter, w r as placed there because the juice of poppies makes people 
sleepy, and the great owl in one corner.” 



Walter could not help laughing at his sister’s description of this 
beautiful design of Night, at which the little girl did not look 
quite pleased ; but a kind word of praise from her mother brought 
back Marion’s smiles, and Walter made her forget his untimely 
merriment, by telling her of another celebrated work of Thor- 
waldsen’s, of which he had read an account. It was the enormous 
lion nearly eighty feet high, carved by him out of a rock near 
Berne, bv order of the Swiss republic, to commemorate the recovery 
of their liberties. 

Marion opened her dark eyes to their widest extent at this 
wonderful' tale. 

“ Your brother is quite right,” said Mrs. Rutherford, thus ap- 
pealed to, “ for I have myself seen the great lion of Berne.” 


22 


THE YOUNG SHIP-CARVER. 


“ And mamma,” asked Walter, after a thoughtful pause, “ do 
tell me, who was that kind, good man, who first aided poor Thor- 
waldsen and discovered his genius ?” 

“ He was a Mr. Hope, a most liberal patron of art.” 

“ We have indeed reason to be proud that an Englishman was 
the first to encourage this great sculptor,” said Walter. “And now 
tell me what Thorwaldsen was like, for I have never seen any por- 
trait of him.” 

“ I have only seen a slight sketch, in which he is represented as 
an old man of mild and placid countenance, with long, silvery hair, 
falling in thick masses, a broad open forehead, and small but 
brilliant eyes.” 

“ Thank you, mamma; I can now fancy him before me; I always 
like to think thus of those I admire.” 

“ I do not know any one more worthy of your admiration than 
Thorwaldsen. And now, my dear boy, we must really talk no more 
to-night, for see ! it is nearly dark ; Marion’s pet rooks are all gone 
to rest, and she must do the same,” said the mother, bending down 
to kiss the little sleepy face that rested on her lap. 

After a loving good-night to Walter, Marion went away with her 
mother, and the boy remained alone. Long did he sit there, 
watching the stars come out one by one, and fancying, in his enthu- 
siasm, how noble and happy a life it must be, to tread in the foot- 
steps of one like Albert Thorwaldsen. 

If my young readers wish to know whether Walter Rutherford 
ever became a great artist, as he so longed to be, I am sorry that I 
cannot tell them, for he is very young still. But he is growing up 
a talented youth, and as good as he is clever ; so there is no saying 
how great a man he may one day become. Walter often says that 
his chief encouragement and incentive to perseverance is in thinking 
of the story of The Little Ship-Carver. 



# 





Christmas-Day 




CHRISTMAS-DAY. 


25 


CHRISTMAS-DAY. 

BY MARY ROBERTS. 

The night is cold and foggy ; carriages move slowly, with 
link-boys at the horses' heads, and long, unwieldy, heavily-laden 
machines, such as our fathers never dreamed of, with anxious 
faces seen dimly at the windows, scarcely know how to proceed, 
so dense is the fog. Waggons creak ponderously ; and among 
them are light carts, looking as if in danger of odng crushed, 
and men, muffled in riding-coats, guide their horses warily through 
the crowd. Gas-lights beaming brightly from some large shop- 
window, reveal the motley assemblage, and shed a lurid kind of 
glare on men and horses ; but they pass on, and disappear in the 
dense fog. 

We shall look in vain for the opening of friendly doors, 
throwing from within a cheering light on young faces, glowing 
with health and gladness, blushing and smiling, as the well- 
known Christmas-carol is trolled forth; nor will the low, sweet 
chime of hand-bells enchant the listener with their hallowed min- 
strelsy. London has neither sights nor sounds like these. Away, 
then, to the * f Old House at Home," where Christmas is right 
welcome and well kept. 

Here, then, we are, and the country looks as if made ready 
for a festival. Frost, with his elfin sprites, has been busy during 
the night decking the leafless branches with glittering gems, and 
causing even the coarsest herbage to resemble icy feathers. He 
has thrown across the holly long rows of seeming diamonds, 
strung on the spider's web, and fringed the edges of all leaves 
with sparkling crystals. 

Heard you not sweet music in the night, waking up the sleep- 
ers — to think of that first heavenly carol, when angels came 
trooping round the shepherds, bringing good tidings of great joy? 
And then, how merrily rang the bells, when day began to dawn ; 
and still they ring ! This is a holiday worth keeping ; and very 
pleasant it is to see the neighbours coming forth, and meeting with 
kind looks in the old grey church. 

Now the day has closed! The ""hospitable board spread with 
Christmas fare, and gaily decked, has been shared in by numerous 
guests. And here we are in the great oak drawing-room ! 
Bunches of thickly-berried holly are ranged on the walls ; and 
from the carved centre of the ceiling hangs a noble bunch of holly. 


26 


CHRISTMAS-DAY. 


enlivened with the mystic mistletoe. The aged sire occupies a kind 
of throne near the blazing hearth, and beside him, in a curiously 
carved and high -backed chair, sits his stately lady — helpmate 
through the shades and sun-gleams of at least fifty years. Three 
generations meet this evening ; noble-looking gentlemen and ladies, 
young married people ; youths and maidens, full of glee and gos- 
sip ; little children trotting about the room ; and last in the line 
of descent is a “ wee thing,” with a crisped cap and long robe, 
borne in the nurse's arms from one blithe welcome to another. 

The door is thrown open with no small ceremony. Lights 
are seen in the hall, and people going to and fro. What can it 
mean ? " A Christmas cake ! '' shouted all the youngsters ; and a 

goodly cake it is, frosted with sugar, white as snow', and sur- 
rounded with choice flowers, among which the pure white Christ- 
mas rose, opening beneath storms of sleet and rain — an emblem 
flower — peeps forth amid the polished leaves and red berries of 
the holly. Next come tarts and apples, with all kinds of nuts, 
mottoes enclosed in mimic fruit, and small rockets, curiously 
adorned, and all such hospitable fare as old Christmas provides for 
his children. And around the cheerful board, beside u'hich is 
placed a memorial fir, bedecked with presents, are eyes that glisten 
with delight ; then one of the young men begins a carol of most 
touching melody, which the oldest had heard in far-off days, and 
those who had gone but a little way in life's journey associate with 
all the delights and hopes of Christmas. 

Nor is Christmas passed by in the cottage unobserved. It 
must be a poor family indeed that cannot afford their plum-pudding 
on that day; — and how delighted 'are the children when it is 
brought, smoking hot, upon the board ! what anticipations they 
have had, and how glorious is the reality ! Oh, Christmas is 
indeed a happy time for old and young, for rich and poor ! 



GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 


27 



GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 

A Norwegian Legend. 

There once lived a man whose name was Gndbrand ; and as he 
possessed a farm in a remote spot on the declivity of a mountain, 
people called him Gudbrand of the Mountain. 

He lived so happily with his wife, and they agreed so well, that 
she thought every thing her husband did was for the best, and that 
it could not have been improved upon. Let him manage anyhow, 
she always found means to be delighted at what he had done. This 
worthy couple were the owners of a piece of arable land, and had a 
hundred dollars in their strong box, besides a couple of cows in the 
stable. One day the wife said to Gudbrand : — “ I think that we 
ought to take one of the cows to town and sell it, in order that we 
may have a little pocket-money at our disposal ; for we are such 
industrious people that we ought to have a few shillings in our 
purse as other folks have, particularly as we don't wish to touch the 


28 


GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 


hundred dollars in the chest. And really I don*t know what we 
should want with more than one cow, and I shall be the gainer by 
having only one to attend to, instead of being bothered with two/'’ 

Gudbrand thought this was all very reasonable and very proper; 
so he immediately took the cow, and went to town to sell it. But 
it happened that there was nobody in the town that was willing to 
purchase the cow. 

“ Never mind,” thought Gudbrand; “ Fll go home again with 
my cow ; I have both stable and yoke ready for her, and the way is 
no longer for going back than coming and with this cheering re- 
flection he plodded homewards in the most contented mood. 



He had not gone far before he met a man with a horse that he 
wanted to sell. Now Gudbrand thought it were better to have a 
horse than a cow, so he made an exchange with the stranger. 

When he had gone a little further he met another man, who was 
driving a fat pig before him, and then Gudbrand thought it would be 
still better to have a fat pig than a horse, and so he exchanged with 
the man. He then went on, and after a while he met a man with a 
goat. u It is certainly better anyhow to have a goat than a pig,” 
thought Gudbrand, and again he made an exchange with the owner 
of the goat. He now went a good deal further, till he met a man 
with a sheep, and with him he likewise made an exchange, on the 
principle “that it is always better to have a sheep than a goat.” On 
going further he met a man with a goose, and then Gudbrand 


GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 


29 


exchanged his sheep against the goose. After this he went a long, 
long way, till he met a man with a cock, and he once more made an 
exchange: for he thought, “ after all, it is still better to have a cock 
than a goose.” He then walked on and on, till it began to grow 
late, when feeling very hungry he sold the cock for threepence, with 
which he bought something to eat ; “ for after all,” thus reasoned 
Gudbrand of the Mountain, “ it is better to bring one's self back safe 
and sound, than to bring home a cock.” He then sped on his way 
home, till he reached the farm of his nearest neighbour, where in he 
went, just as Hans the ploughboy was driving home the cattle. 



<( Well ! how did you fare in town ?” inquired the good folks. 

“ Why, but so so,” answered Gudbrand. “ I can't say much 
for my luck, neither have I much reason to complain.” And here- 
upon he related all that had happened from beginning to end. 

“ Well, I'm sure ! you’ll get a warm reception from your wife, 
when you reach home,” quoth the farmer. “ Lord help you ! I 
shouldn't like to be in your shoes.” 

“ Things might have gone worse, however,” replied Gudbrand 
of the Mountain ; “ but whether good, bad, or indifferent I have 


80 


GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 


such an excellent wife, that she never reproaches me, let me do what 
I will.” 

“ That may be,” said the man ; “yet somehow I can't believe it.” 

“ Shall we lay a wager ?” asked Gudbrand. “ I have a hundred 
dollars in my chest, will you lay as much against them ?” 

“ Done !” said the neighbour, and as twilight was now coming 
on, they both set out for Gudbrand' s farm. When they had reached 
it, the neighbour remained outside the door, while Gudbrand went 
in to his wife, and they began to talk in the following manner: — 

“ Good evening,” said Gudbrand of the Mountain, as he walked 
into the room. 

“ Good evening,” replied the wife ; “ praised be God ! you are 
come back again, are you ?” 

Sure enough he was back. Then the wife inquired how he had 
got on in town. “But so so,” answered Gudbrand: “ I can't much 
boast of my luck. On reaching town, nobody would purchase my 
cow, so I changed it for a horse.” 

“Ay — there, indeed, you do deserve my thanks,” said she. “ We 
are so well off that we may as well drive to church as other people, 
and if we have the means of getting ourselves a horse, why should 
not we ? Pray, goodman, go and bring him in.” 

“Stop,” replied Gudbrand, “I have not got the horse exactly; 
for after going on a bit I changed it for a pig.” 

“No! did you ?” cried the wife; “why that's the very thing I 
should have done myself ! Thank you a thousand times, my dear 
husband. Now I shall have some bacon in the house to offer the 
folks that come to see us. What, indeed, do we want with a horse? 
People would only say that we had grown too grand to walk to 
church as we used to do. Prithee, goodman, go and fetch in the 

“But I haven’t got the pig any more than the horse,” said 
Gudbrand; “for on going somewhat further I changed it for a 
milch -goat.” 

“ Why, what capital notions you always have !” exclaimed the wife; 
“for when I come to think of it, what do we want with a pig? People 
would only say, ‘they are eating up their substance.' But now that 
I have a goat, 1 can have milk and cheese, and without parting with 
the goat either. So, goodman, let's see Nannygoat.” 

“ But I haven't got any goat either,” answered Gudbrand; “for, 
on going a little further, 1 changed the goat for an excellent sheep.” 

“Now, did you?” cried the wife: “well to be sure, you have 


GUDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. 


SI 


done every thing that I could have wished, just as if I had been at 
your elbow all the time! What, indeed, should we want a goat for? 
I should have always been running after it, and climbing up hill 
and down dale. Bat with a sheep, I shall not only have wool to 
make clothes with, but something to eat into the bargain. So 
prithee, goodman, go and fetch the sheep in ” 

“ But I no longer have the sheep,” said Gudbrand; “ for, when I 
had gone a little further, I exchanged it for a goose.” 

“ Oh, thank you a thousand times over foi that !” cried tLc, 
wife; “for what could I have done with the sheep ( I have neither 
.distaff nor spindle, nor do I want them either, and care still less for 
the plague of weaving clothes, which we can just as well go on buy- 
ing as we have done hitherto. And now 1 shall have an opportunity 
of tasting a bit of goose, which I have hankered after so long, and 
of stuffing my pillow with down. So now, goodman, go and fetch 
in the goose.” 

“ Ay, but I have no goose to fetch,” replied Gudbrand “ for, 
after going a little further, I changed it for a cock.” 

“ Only think now of your hitting on the very thing I should 
have chosen !” exclaimed the wife. “Why a cock is for all the world 
as good as if you had bought an alarum watch ; for the cock crows 
every morning at four o'clock, and so we shall be sure to be stirring 
by times. After all we did not want a goose, for I don't know how 
to dress goose's flesh ; and as to my pillow, I can stuff it with sea- 
weeds just as well. So go your ways, goodman, and fetch the cock.” 

“ But I have no cock either,” said Gudbrand; “ for, after going 
somewhat further, I felt so tremendously hungry that I was fain to 
sell the cock for threepence, in order to be able to come home alive.” 

“ And right well did you do !” cried the wife. “ Let you set about 
what you will, you are sure to do every thing just to my liking. 
What does it signify whether we have a cock or not ? Surely we 
are our own masters, and can lie in bed of a morning as long as we 
please. And now, thank God that I have got you back again — you 
who are so clever at every thing — I want neither cock, goose, pig, 
nor cow.” 

Gudbrand now opened the door. “ Have I won the hundred 
dollars ?” cried he. And the neighbour was forced to own that he 
fairly had. 


82 


THE ASH. 



THE ASH. 

From “ The Woodland Companion ” by Dr. Aikin. 

The ash is a tall tree, having a light thin foliage which gives 
it a graceful appearance, especially when contrasted with trees of 
greater mass and depth of shade. It flourishes most in woods, 
hut will also thrive well in good soils upon open ground. It runs 
its roots a great way near the surface ; which quality, together 
with the destructive property of its drippings, renders it injurious 
to herbage, and still more to corn. When growing near water it 
sometimes hangs down its boughs like the weeping willow. No 
tree is so often met with in ruins and upon ancient walls, probably 
on account of the readiness with which its winged seeds are borne 
by the wind. It insinuates its roots far into the crevices of these 
old buildings, and thereby becomes an instrument of the destruc- 
tion of what affords it support. In like manner it fastens upon 
loose slaty rocks, and decorates them with its verdure. It is one 


THE ASH. 


38 


of the latest trees in coming into leaf, and loses its leaves early in 
autumn. The bunches of long skinny seeds, called keys, on the 
fertile trees, have a singular appearance. It is observed that while 
some ash-trees hear great quantities of keys yearly, others seem 
never to bear any. The former, however, are naked of leaves and 
unsightly ; whereas the latter abound in foliage, and are pleasing 
objects. The bark is smooth and light coloured ; the leaves dark 
green. A well-grown ash is a handsome and elegant object, though 
all may not agree with the Roman poet in giving it the prize of 
beauty above all the natives of the forest. There are few which 
excel it in utility ; for its wood, next to that of the oak, is employed 
for the greatest variety of purposes. Thus our Spenser, mentioning 
the particular uses of a number of trees, characterises the ash as 
“ . . . . for nothing ill.” 

It may be peculiarly termed the husbandman’s tree ; for it is one of 
the principal materials in making ploughs, harrows, waggons, carts, 
and various other implements for rustic use : hence a proportional 
number of ash-trees should be planted in every farm. The toughness 
of its w r ood rendered it a favourite with the heroes of old for the 
shafts of their potent spears ; whence it is poetically termed “ the 
martila ash.” With us it is much employed in poles for various 
purposes, and also in spokes of wheels, tool-handles, and the like. 
Dairy utensils are mostly made of ash. Its loppings make good 
fuel, and it has the quality of burning when fresh as well as dry, 
and also with little smoke. Its ashes afford good potash. The 
bark of the ash has an astringent quality, and is used in tanning 
calf-skin. Its leaves are eaten by cattle. 



3 


34 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 



THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 

BY MRS. JAMES WHITTLE. 

On the side of a hill sloping to the south, which overlooked a 
beautiful valley with high mountains beyond, was an old-fashioned 
garden. The tall box hedges which formed its boundary were care- 
fully clipped, and the cypress-trees which shot up into the clear 
blue sky had stood the brunt of many a wintry blast. Formal 
parterres of flowers were seen here and there, and a profusion of 
gay blossoms was scattered around. Here were the sweet stock- 
gillyflowers, the tall columbines and the stately foxglove, the double 
rocket and hedges of sweet pea ; while honeysuckles twined around 
the little arbours, and the blush and cabbage roses grew like the 
spoiled favourites of the place, wild and unpruned. A broad 
terrace, crowning the summit of the hill, commanded a lovely 
view. Along the valley ran a rapid mountain-stream, tumbling 
and murmuring over its pebbly bed ; meadows stretched away on 
either side ; little copses of birch and fir were seen on the distant 
bills, and groups of sycamores and elms dotted the intervening 
plain. Behind the garden was a wood covering the hills in that 
direction for many miles ; a tangled wilderness of underwood and 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 


35 


sweet wild-flowers, overshadowed by the graceful foliage of the 
beech and ash, with now and then a noble oak rearing its giant 
form through the green canopy. 

In a warm, sunny nook of this quaint old garden stood a 
beehive — and a right merry life, I wot, .had the little busy bees 
who lived there ; for hardly could a lovelier place be found than 
these box-hedges enclosed, or sweeter honied flowers than such as 
grew beneath their shelter. A house stood at the bottom of the 
hill, to whose inmates this pleasant garden belonged. Amongst 
them was one fair child, who loved nothing so well as to wander 
about amongst the flowers ; and often would she sit, silently look- 
ing up into the bright sky above, and wonder what lay beyond 
those fleecy clouds that seemed bending down to kiss the verdant 
hills : and sometimes she would listen to the birds as they sang on 
the trees above her head, until she fancied she could understand 
their songs ; and then she felt her heart glow with the love which 
they were chanting forth — the love of God and of their kind. The 
hum of the insects and the murmuring of the bees, too, had a 
meaning for this little maiden ; and she walked amongst the birds 
and flowers like a loving, gentle spirit. But her chief delight was 
to steal away from every one, and wander alone in the deep shade 
of the wood. Choosing some quiet nook, she would sit until the 
moonbeams, shining through the leaves, told her that night was 
coming on, and that the wood was no longer a place for her. Then 
would the child wish that she were a fairy, that she might dance in 
the pale moonlight, and feed upon the honey dew that hung heavily 
on the flowers. To serve the Fairy Queen — to fly over the world, 
doing her behests or tending her favourite flowers ; to spread her 
mushroom table with choice dainties ; to gather for her the sweet 
fresh berries, and hand her sparkling dew in “ acorn cups filled to 
the brim : ” these, she thought, would be her best employ. So 
dreamed the little maiden: and often as she sat under the trees 
she saw and heard things which made her wonder more and more. 
She learned to know all the little creatures who dwelt in the wood, 
and they, losing their fear, would stop to gaze on her ; the squirrel 
leaping from bough to bough, the hare darting swiftly across the 
glade, the pigeon high above her head, telling its plaintive tale 
— all seemed to know and love the child. The droning beetle and 
the chirping grashopper, too, became her friends ; and when 
evening closed in, and the nightingale poured forth her soul in 


36 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 


song, the child would listen with rapture, until tears stole silently 
down her cheeks. 

In the beehive in the old garden there lived a bee who had 
long watched this little child, who had followed her as she glided 
amongst the flowers, or flew after her when she wandered away 
into the dark wood. The bee loved the child ; and, seeing in her 
heart the love for all created things which nature had implanted 
there, desired to teach her how best to use it for the good of 
others. She herself had learned that idleness never led to hap- 
piness, and she longed to tell the dreaming child all her ex- 
perience. One sultry day the maiden had sought the shade 
which a group of noble beech-trees cast on the mossy bank 
beneath; around her sprang a grove of the tall foxglove. She 
was musing how, were she a fairy, she would hide herself in their 
pendent bells, and swing to and fro in every passing breeze, when 
suddenly a voice greeted her. She looked up — no one was there; 
she listened, and again it spoke. Could it be a fairy ? She held 
her breath, and again looked wistfully round ; when the voice, like a 
soft murmur, whispered in her ear, “ Look up, fair child ! In the 
blue bell which hangs beside you I am sitting, not a fairy, but a 
bee.” 

The wondering child sat still and listened, while the bee went 
on to say, — 

“ If you would like to hear it I will tell you where I was born, 
and how I spend my time ; and you will learn perhaps that bees may 
lead a happier life than even fairies. We fly, like them, from flower 
to flower, choosing the sweetest and fairest ; swinging in a lily’s 
bed, or nestling among the velvet leaves of a rose ; basking in the 
warm sunshine, and revelling in the pure, clear air. But we enjoy 
a happiness unknown to fairies — the bliss of being useful. In our 
flights we search for the sweet honey which lies hid in the fragrant 
cups of the blossoms, and return to our home laden with food for 
the young and helpless ; by our labours are the hard-working hive- 
bees nourished ; and in winter, when dark days come and storms 
arise, we all rejoice together in the produce of our industry. Thus 
we are doubly blest ; for our daily toil brings us in contact with 
the loveliest of earth’s creations. Thus will it be with you, my child, 
when you shall have learned that to work for others is better than 
to dream life idly away, wishing for that which cannot be. Learn 
now my history. — The first thing remember, on opening my eyes. 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 


37 


wag finding myself lying at the bottom of a cell. How long I 
had lain there I know not, but I was certainly not then the same 
creature I now am, but rather like those little dark caterpillars that 
live on rose-trees. Bees were flying about very busily ; and soon 
one came, and, settling on the edge of the wall of my cell, gave me 
some liquid from her trunk, which I afterwards learned was honey. 
My kind nurse returned again and again, until I felt myself grow- 
ing strong. Soon my coat began to tease me, and by working 
my body about, I managed to get out of it, and then I trampled 
it down arid left it at the bottom of my cell. I grew very fast ; 
and in time I found the cell becoming too small for me, and I 
refused to eat any more. I think I must then have fallen asleep. 
The last thing I remember was the sound of the bees as they 
covered me up in my cell, which they did with a crust of wax. 
How long I lay there I cannot tell ; but after some time I began 
to want more space, and was conscious of a change in my form ; 
so, raising my head, I made a hole through the crust that had 
been put over me, and found, much to my surprise, that I could 
fly like those bees who had fed me when I was a little worm. I 
was very proud of my new wings, and flew about the hive, hoping 
to be admired; for, I am ashamed to say, I was a vain little bee, 
but I found every one too busy to take notice of me. A number 
of young bees like myself were crawling out from their cells, and 
hundreds of others full-grown were flying backwards and forwards ; 
some feeding the young grubs, others making the cells, in which 
I saw one laying a number of little round eggs. I soon learned 
that this was the Queen Bee, the mother of the hive, to whom 
great deference was paid. I also saw a number of bees who 
seemed to have nothing to do ; these, I was told, were the 
idle bees or drones, and by and by they would all be driven out 
of the hive, as none but good working bees could be allowed to 
share the winter store. I soon began to wish to do as I saw others 
doing around me, and asked a bee who had just entered the 
hive laden with honey, which he was depositing in an empty cell, 
whether I could help him. His answer delighted me. 'Well 
done, my brave little fellow V he said. 'Begin early to work; 
that's the way to make a good bee. Come with me, and you shall 
see how merrily we live ! * Following him, we were soon outside 
the hive ; and I shall never forget the delight I experienced when, 
flying through the air, I alighted first on one flower and then on 
another, thinking each oije sweeter than the last, and rejoicing 


38 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 


in the warm beams of the sun. My guide allowed me to enjoy my 
freedom for a while ; but soon buzzing up to me, he said, ‘ You 
must not go back empty, or you will be laughed at for an idle 
drone. See how I suck up the honey from the bottom of the 
flower-cup, and try if you cannot fill your little bag before we 
return/ Proud to be employed, I soon learned the way; and 
although the delicious taste of the honey tempted me to eat a great 
portion of what I found, yet I managed to fill my pouch very 
respectably ; and never was there a happier, blither little bee than 
I, as we flew back to our hive. Thus I lived for some time, until 
I grew to be a very wise and hard-working bee. 

“ One morning I found all the hive in commotion. I could not 
at first understand what had happened, but on flying out saw a 
great number of my companions settled on the outside of the hive, 
and soon learned that the young queen, who had been nursed care- 
fully for some time, was about to fly off and form a colony of her 
own. As I had been born about the same time as the queen, I 
thought it was my duty to follow her wherever she went ; so, fasten- 
ing on to the swarm which now hung like a curtain outside our 
old hive, I awaited the issue in patience. The sun meanwhile began 
to shine down with great heat, and fell upon us, as we hung motion- 
less from the hive. In a moment the queen flew off, and we, 
clinging to her as we best could, rose too. There was a tinkling 
of a little bell, and we followed our leader until she settled on an 
old apple-tree; then we buzzed and wheeled about for some time, 
and at last gathered in a thick cluster round her. Suddenly a 
rough hand shook the branch on which we had alighted, and 
we all fell into a hive, which was quickly turned over, and we 
found ourselves prisoners. It was, however, a pleasant home for 
us, and we soon began to work in it. First we collected a sort of 
sticky resin, with which we carefully stopped up every hole and 
chink which admitted light and air ; and then we began to build 
the cells in which our queen was to deposit her eggs. For this 
process a number of the working bees, amongst whom I was one, 
withdrew to a part of the hive, where we remained totally inactive 
for a long time, during which we were secreting wax in the small 
pockets provided for the purpose. When sufficient wax had been 
thus procured, the cells were formed ; one by one they were built, 
and soon eggs were laid in some, and a certain portion of our com- 
munity were appointed to watch over them, and feed the young 
worms when born ; others, laboured unremittingly in the con- 


THE CHILD AND THE BEE. 


39 


fitruction of the cells, while the larger number flew abroad in quest 
of honey : this is my duty, and I fly far and near for the food 
which I bear home. Sometimes when I return laden with the sweet 
treasure, a tired cell-builder, who never quits the hive, petitions 
for a meal ; then I gladly lay my burden down beside him, and fly 
away to gather more honey for the cell it is my task to fill. This, 
when full, will be covered over with wax, so that no air may get in 
to spoil it, and will serve for our food in the winter. Our hive is 
now well stored, and our labour will soon end for this year. Then 
how sweet will be the rest after our toil, when, closely shut up in 
our warm home, we shall feast upon our well-earned treasure, until 
spring again calls us forth to new and active happiness ! 

“ Every now and then our busy life is interrupted by some 
strange accident. The other day, as we were setting out in the 
early dawn, we saw advancing into our hive a black slimy creature, 
with horns on its head, and carrying on its back a sort of 
hive of hard, stony substance. Instantly an alarm was sounded. 
We flew on the monster, and darting our stings into him, he 
quickly drew back into his house. A hundred bees set to work in 
a moment, and speedily the door of his hive was covered over with 
the sticky resin I mentioned to )mu before, so that the creature 
could not leave his dwelling. Being thus rendered harmless, we 
allowed the monster to remain, for indeed our united strength 
could not move him an inch. 

“ And now, my child, I must away ! The sun begins to decline, 
and I have not yet filled my honey-bag. Should you ever, in 
wandering through the wood, think of my words, remember that the 
bees are happy because they are usefully employed ; and learn from 
us that daily duties, well performed, bring a sweet reward which 
idle dreamers never know. - ” 

So saying the bee flew away, and the little maiden pondered 
on the words she had heard. After-years found her devoted to 
the service of all around. She still loved the birds and flowers, 
and often wandered through the wood ; yet she never forgot that 
idle dreamers are, after all, but the lazy drones of the great human 
hive. 


40 


THE STORK. 



THE STORK. 

The Stork is a long-legged bird, with a very long beak. Its 
feathers are white, except its wings, which are black. Though a 
native of Syria, and found in the tropical regions of Africa, it 
comes to spend the summer in Europe. Storks migrate in nume- 
rous troops. They form a compact triangular-shaped battalion, 
headed by a general who directs their flight. When he is tired, 
one of his staff immediately replaces him, while he retires to the 
rear of the army. These troops occasionally extend some miles, 
and darken the atmosphere like a black cloud. The stork is easily 
tamed. The female is very careful of her young, and carries them 
on her wrings before they are able to fly. On the other hand, the 
young storks provide for the nourishment of the elders when no 
longer able to help themselves, which accounts for the veneration in 
which they were held by the ancients. In our times, the stork is 
still respected in Syria, where it is highly useful in clearing the 
woods of serpents, and eating frogs and lizards. No one would 
think of killing these birds, who, being at peace with man- 
kind, sleep in safety in the middle of the fields, standing on one leg, 
as is their custom. The superstitious Oriental considers that his 
house is blest if the stork has built his nest upon it, just as some of 
our country people welcome the swallows that become domesticated 
under their roof. 



THE MILL IN THE SEA. 

In olden times there once lived two brothers, one of whom was 
rich, and the other poor. When Christmas was near at hand, the 
poor one had not so much as a bit of meat or a crust of bread in 
the house, so he went to his brother, and begged him in God’s 
name to give him a trifle. Now it happened that this was not the 
first time that the rich brother had given the poor one something, 
so he was not particularly delighted when he saw him coming. 

" Pf you will do as I tell you,” said he to the unwelcome visitor, 
" you shall have a whole ham that is hanging up to be smoked.” 

The poor brother said he would do what he told him, and thank 
him too. 

" There it is,” said the rich brother, flinging him the ham "and 
now go to the lower regions !” 

" Since I have promised it, I must go,” observed the other, 
taking up his ham, and going away. 

After wandering about the whole day, just as it grew dark 
he perceived a bright light at no great distance from him. " It 
must be here,” thought he. On going somewhat further into the 
forest, however, he found an old man, with a long white beard, who 
was cutting wood. 

" Good evening,” said he with the ham. 

"Good evening,” replied the man; "whither may you be 
going ?” 

" Oh ! Pm only going to the lower regions, only I don't know 
whether I've come the right way,” replied the poor, simple-hearted 
man. 

" Yes, you are quite right,” said the old man, " the entrance 
is just here ;” and then he added, " when you have got down below, 
they will all want to buy your ham, for swine's flesh is a great 


42 


THE MILL IN THE SEA. 


Tarity there : but you must not sell it for money, so rather ask 
to exchange it against the old hand-mill that stands behind the 
door. When you come up again, then I will teach you what to 
do with the mill ; for it has its use, I can tell you.” 

On entering the underground dwelling, every thing happened 
just as the old man had told him. All the imps, great and small, 
gathered round, and began outbidding each other for the ham. 

“ I had intended feasting upon it on holy Christmas eve, with 
my wife,” said the man ; “but as you seem so bent on having it, Fm 
willing to part with it : but I will not take any thing in exchange, 
except the old hand-mill that stands behind the door.” 

The chief imp did not at all relish parting with this, and he began 
to haggle and bargain with the man ; but the latter remained firm, 
so at last the imp was fain to let him take the mill away. When the 
man had emerged from the underground dwelling, he asked the 
old woodcutter how he was to use the mill, and when he had told 
him, he thanked him and returned home ; but let him make what 
speed he would, he did not reach it till twelve o’clock at night. 

“ Where in the world can you have been ?” said his wife as he 
came in. “ I’ve been sitting here and waiting hour after hour, and 
I had not so much as a couple of splinters to lay across each other 
under the gruel pot, to cook our Christmas dinner.” 

“ Oh !” replied the man, “ I could not come sooner, for I had 
some business to mind, and was obliged to go a long way about it ; 
but you shall see what I have brought back with me !” 

He then placed the mill on the table, and made it grind first of 
all, candles, then a table-cloth, then food and beer, — in short, all that 
was wanting for a Christmas feast ; and whatever he called for, the 
mill ground it immediately. His wife stood by, and crossed herself 
many times over, and was very anxious to know how her husband 
had come by the mill. But this he took care not to tell. 

“ It matters not how I got it, wife,” said he : “ you see that it 
is a good mill, whose water does not cease to flow, and that is 
enough.” 

And then he ground eatables and drinkables, and every possible 
dainty for Christmas week ; and on the third day he invited his 
friends to a banquet. When the rich brother saw what a feast was 
in preparation, he turned hot and cold with vexation, for he grudged 
his brother the least windfall. 

“ On Christmas eve,” said he to the other guests, “ he was so 
miserably poor that he came to ask me for a trifie in God’s name, 


THE MILL IN THE SEA. 


43 


and now all of a sudden he is as grand as if he had become an earl 
or a king.” Then turning to his brother , — “ Where on earth,” 
asked he, “ did you get all these riches ?” 

“ Behind the door,” answered the other, who had no mind to 
let the cat out of the bag. But towards evening, when he had 
taken a drop too much, he could not keep his own counsel any 
longer, but brought out his mill. 

“ Here is the golden goose that has brought me all my riches,” 
said he, and made the mill grind first one thing and then another. 
On seeing this, the brother wanted to buy the mill of him, but the 
other would not hear of it at first. At length, however, as his 
brother seemed to wish for it so very much, he said he would take 
three hundred dollars for it, only he bargained not to part with it 
till harvest-time. “ For,” said he, “if I keep it till then, I shall be 
able to grind food enough for many a year to come.” 

During this space of time, we may easily imagine that the mill 
was not allowed to grow rusty ; and when harvest-time came, the 
brother had it given him, only the other had taken good care not to 
tell him how he was to manage it. It was evening when the rich 
brother brought the mill home, and on the following morning he 
told his wife that she might go into the field with the reapers, and 
that he would, meanwhile, prepare tne dinner. Towards midday, 
therefore, he placed the mill on the kitchen table. “ Grind away,” 
cried he, and let us have some herrings and a mess of milk of the 
best sort.” So the mill began to turn out herrings and milk, till 
all the dishes and pots and pans were filled, and at last the kitchen 
was completely flooded. The man kept twisting and turning the 
mill, but do what he would the mill did not cease grinding, and at 
length the milk had risen so high that he was in danger of being 
drowned. He now tore open the chamber door, but it was not long 
before the chamber was likewise inundated ; and it was with the 
greatest difficulty that he could wade through the milky tide and 
manage to unfasten the latch of the house door. No sooner had he 
opened the door than out he rushed, still pursued by a torrent of milk 
and. herrings that spread over the farmyard and the meadow beyond. 

Meanwhile the wife, who was out in the field with the reapers, 
began to think that her husband was very long in coming to call her 
in to dinner. 

“ Let’s go home,” said she to the reapers ; “ I can readily fancy 
that he has not been able to manage cooking a mess of milk by 
himself, and so I must help him.” 

So they set off for the farm. But no sooner had they come 


44 


THE MILL IN THE SEA. 


from behind the mountain, than herrings, milk, and bread, came 
floating towards them, while the farmer was running away at full 
speed. “ Would that each of you had a hundred mouths to swallow 
all this up!” cried he : “mind you don't get drowned in my dinner.” 

And on he went as if a wild beast were behind him, till he 
had reached his brother's ; and then he entreated his poor relation, 
for God's sake, to take back his mill: “for if it goes on grinding for 
another hour,” said he, “ the whole village will be inundated with 
herrings and milk.” 

But the brother refused to take back the mill unless the other 
counted him out three hundred dollars more ; and as there was no 
help for it, the rich man was fain to lug out the money. So now 
that the poor brother had money as well as the mill, he built a house 
that was far handsomer than the one his rich brother inhabited. 
With the help of the mill, he collected so much gold that he could 
cover the walls with plates of gold, and as the house stood near the 
shore, it could be seen shining from a great distance out at sea. All 
who sailed near that coast were sure to anchor in the neighbourhood, 
and to pay a visit to the rich man in the golden house, in order to 
see the wonderful mill. 

One day, a captain, who, like so many others, had come to see 
the mill, inquired, after looking at it, whether it could grind salt ? 

“ Yes, it can grind salt as well as any thing,” said the man. 

The captain then wanted to purchase it at any price : “ for,” 
thought he, “ if I had this mill, I should not be obliged to sail so 
far over the rough seas to fetch salt, and then I could make myself 
comfortable at home.” 

At first the man would not hear of selling it ; but the captain 
teazed and teazed so long, that at length he consented to part with 
it for many thousand dollars. As soon as the captain had obtained 
the mill, he took care not to remain long in the neighbourhood, for 
fear the man should repent of his bargain ; so, without ever stopping 
to inquire how he was to manage the mill, he went back to his ship 
and sailed away. On reaching the main sea he took out his mill, 
and cried, “ Grind salt, and let it be prime stuff !” 

And the mill began to grind salt till it spit and crackled again. 
When the captain found that his ship was full, he tried to stop the 
mill, but, in spite of all his endeavours, the mill went on grinding, 
and the heap of salt grew higher and higher, till it finished by 
sinking the ship. So now the mill stands at the bottom of the 
ocean, and keeps grinding on to this very day, which is the reason 
that sea water is salt. 


THE LIME. 


45 



THE LIME. 

From “ The Woodland Companion by Dr. Aikin. 

The lime, or linden, is one of the beauties among trees, and is 
cultivated rather on that account than for its utility. It grows 
straight and taper, with a smooth erect trunk, and a fine spreading 
head inclined to a conical form. Its leaf is large, and its bark 
smooth. In a good soil it arrives at a great height and size, and 
becomes a stately object. But it is seldom viewed single, and its 
chief glory arises from society. No tree is so much employed for 
avenues, and for bordering streets and roads. Some of the straight 
walks of ancient limes, which modern taste has hitherto spared, are 
beautiful specimens of the pointed arch made by the intersection of 
branches, which has been supposed to be imitated in the Gothic 


46 


THE LIME. 


architecture of cathedrals. In viewing one of these noble works of 
nature disciplined by art, who will not exclaim with Cowper ? v 

“ Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn 
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
That yet a remnant of your race survives. 

How airy and how light the graceful arch, 

Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
Ee-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
The chequered earth seems restless as a flood 
Brushed by the wind.” — Task, b. i. 

The lime comes early into leaf, and its verdure is one of the 
first harbingers of spring beheld in great towns, where it often 
decorates the squares and public walks. Its flowers are highly 
fragrant, and are very attractive to the bees, which gather much 
honey from them. An infusion of them is said to make a pleasant 
tea. The sap of the tree contains sugar. Lime wood is soft and 
light, and, therefore, only fit for uses requiring little strength. It 
is used by shoemakers and leather-cutters to cut leather upon, as 
not being liable to turn the edge of their knives. The closeness of 
its grain, joined with softness, and the property of not being readily 
attacked by the worm, has caused it to be chosen by carvers for the 
rich ornamental work with which churches and palaces were for- 
merly decorated. Mr. Evelyn mentions it as the material employed 
by the celebrated artist Gibbon for his beautiful festoons and other 
sculptures. It makes good charcoal for designers. Its inner bark, 
soaked in water, yields a fibrous matter fit for ropes and fishing- 
nets. The Russia mats, and the bark shoes of the peasants, are< 
made of this material. 




THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


4T 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 

AN ORIGINAL TALE, BY MADAME DE CHATELAIN. 

“Papa,” said little Rosa, as she was gambolling about in the 
garden, which looked sad and wintry now the snow was on the 
ground, “will it not very soon be Christmas?” 

“Yes, my dear,” replied her father; “what makes you in- 
quire ?” 

“ Oh,” replied Rosa, “ I shall be so glad to see Eanny, and 
Neddy, and Janet ! They are coming — are they not, papa ?” added 
she, anxiously; for, with the quick perception of childhood, she 
fancied her father looked half-displeased at her question. 

“ No, they are not coming !” said Mr. Pinch, abruptly. 

The word “why ?” hovered on Rosa’s lips, and a tear trembled 
in her eye, as at last she ventured to say, — 

“ I should have been so glad to see them ! But they’ll come 
some other time, won’t they?” 

“Now, let’s have no crying, Rosa!” said her father; “and 
don’t talk to me of these Mortons any more, there’s a good 
girl ! ” 

So saying, he turned off into an adjoining alley, as if to get 
rid of the subject ; and poor little Rosa, who dared not follow him, 
bounded back into the house, and went with streaming eyes to 
ask her mother why her little companions were not coming to play 
with herself and brothers and sister, as they had hitherto done ; for 
the families had regularly met every Christmas since her little life 
had begun, and long before it too, for the matter of that. 

Mamma looked serious, as she patted her little head, and 
replied, “ My dear, there is a quarrel between your papa and 
Mr. Morton.” 

“What’s a quarrel, mamma?” said the child. 

The mother smiled. “ When your little sister takes away your 
doll, and won’t give it you back, or if one of your brothers breaks 
a wheel of your doll’s carriage, as Tommy did yesterday, are you 
never angry, and do you never say unkind things to them?” 

“Yes,” said Rosa, blushing. “I told Tommy I would never 
lend him one of my playthings again.” 

“And what did Tommy answer?” said the mother. 

“ That he didn’t care ! ” 

“ And then you said he was a naughty boy, and he replied that 


48 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


you were naughtier still; and if Nurse had not parted you, so you 
would have gone on for an hour longer, perhaps. Did not she bid 
you leave off quarrelling ? ” 

“ Yes, mamma,” said Rosa ; " but papa and Mr. Morton have 
no playthings, so how can they quarrel?” 

" They do not quarrel about playthings, my dear,” replied her 
mother, "but about things suited to their age. You know you 
children have each a little garden of your own : now suppose Alice 
wanted to have a piece of your garden added to her own, you would 
not like it, would you?” 

" Oh, no ! ” replied Rosa, " I have not more than I want for 
myself.” 

"Very well,” said mamma, "and I dare say you would rather 
have a piece of Tommy’s or Fred’s garden, than that Alice should 
have a bit of yours : is it not so ?” 

Rosa thought for a while, and then said, " But that would not 
be fair ; would it, mamma ?” 

"No, my love,” said Mrs. Finch, kissing her, "it would not; 
but this is what many people' do. Well, then, now imagine that, 
instead of a little piece of a garden, it is a large piece of land that 
two grown people each want to add to the land they already possess, 
and that one of them has contrived to buy it away from the other, 
can’t you fancy that the one who has lost it is vexed and angry, 
just as you would be if your sister or brothers got away a piece of 
your little garden?” 

Yes, Rosa understood this quite well ; and then she inquired, 
naturally enough, whether her father had lost or won the piece of 
land ; and being informed that he had lost it (her mother would not 
tell her that it was owing to Mr. Finch’s hasty temper and bitter 
words that the breach had been made, and that he had refused 
coming to an amicable agreement), she thought papa might well be 
vexed ; only she did not see why it need prevent her from playing 
with her little companions. Mrs. Finch, however, endeavoured, in 
her mild way, to explain that the children could not come without 
their parents, and that it would be unpleasant to both fathers to 
meet after what had taken place. But here Rosa could not under- 
stand why, since Tommy and she had made it up about the coach, 
her father and Mr. Morton could not make up their differences 
about the piece of land. Only as her mamma told her that it was 
not to be helped, and that she must bear the disappointment as well 
as she could, she said no more, and went to communicate |he sor- 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


49 


rowful tidings to the rest of the little family. The Mortons were 
such nice children, that no disappointment could have fallen more 
heavily on their young playmates than to learn, thus suddenly, that 
the long-anticipated visit was not to take place. Alice and Tommy 
could not help crying ; and though Fred, being a little older, bore 
it more soberly, still they all agreed that they would never be able 
to play at Christmas games, or to he merry, without their dear 
little friends. 

On the following day, their father, after being out all the 
morning, brought them home some Christmas presents. Besides a 
cargo of dolls, and harlequins, and puzzles, that would serve as 
amusement for many a long winter’s evening to come, he crowned 
the whole by bringing them a couple of starlings, to fill an empty 
cage that stood in a tree near the door, and that had been 
untenanted for at least two years, since the last inmates died. 
When I say cage, I don’t mean a prison — for Mr. Finch would 
never allow his children to shut up poor little birds, who, as he 
often said, were “ free men,” just as well as we — but it was a nice, 
snug little abode, with a hole to creep in and out. 



Only till the weather grew mild enough for them, they were to 
stay inside the house ; for the person of whom they were bought 
having always kept them in a cage, they had grown so helpless 


4 


50 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


that they would not have known how to provide for themselves, for 
we must all learn by degrees how to make use even of liberty. 
Therefore, for a time only, they were to remain in their wicker cage, 
the door of which was never shut ; so that they often came out, 
and picked up the crumbs at breakfast. Neither Alice nor Tommy 
could remember the former starlings, for they were too young at 
the time; but their brother and sister had often told them how 
amusing they were, with their knack of catching up sentences and 
repeating them more fluently than they could get their lessons by 
heart. So they had long wished to see a starling, and great 
indeed was their joy at papa’s having guessed their wishes so 
exactly. 

After a while, however, when they had looked at all the play- 
things, and fed the starlings, they recollected that they would not 
be able to shew them to their little friends; and they couldn’t 
help repeating over and over again, “I wish the Mortons were 
coming ! ” So they all looked sad enough on the day before 
Christmas, as the family, with an additional aunt or two, were 
gathered together in the sitting-room. The children were playing 
in silence, and so quietly that Aunt Margaret declared they had 
never been “so good” before (goodness, in her vocabulary, con- 
sisted of making no noise) ; when suddenly little Rosa, who was 
near the window, cried out with a crow of exultation, “ Why, there’s 
Caesar ! ” 

To explain the delightful import these words conveyed, it 
must be observed that Caesar was a trusty dog belonging to the 
Mortons, and that he always accompanied the family on their 
Christmas visit ; and, being caressed and kindly treated by every 
body at Mr. Finch’s, he invariably started off so as to arrive about 
a quarter of an hour before the expected guests, just as a courier 
precedes his master’s carriage. 

The rest of the children all dropped their toys to run and look 
out of window ; and sure enough Caesar was there, panting, and 
shaking the snow off his shaggy coat. A joyous scream burst from 
the little group, who surrounded their father, crying out, “ Oh, 
papa, you were only playing us a trick, and they are coming after 
all ! ” 

“ I wish the Mortons were coming !” pertly cried the starling, 
who had heard the words so frequently since he had been in the 
house that he could repeat them exactly. 

Mr. Finch looked angry, and flung his handkerchief at the 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


51 


starling’s cage, while he said to the children, “ Have I not told you 
1 wouldn’t hear any more about those Mortons?” 

Meantime the servants had opened the door on Csesar’s scratch- 
ing for admittance, and up he bounded to the drawing-room door, 
when Fred ran to let him in. Csesar entered very unceremoniously, 
and, as if sure of a welcome, began lavishing his boisterous caresses 
on all present. 

“Down, down, Csesar!” said Mr. Finch, vexed at the enthu- 
siasm with which his children welcomed their four-footed favourite; 
and then, touched by the unsuspecting caresses of the poor animal, 
he could not resist patting him, adding, “ Poor fellow, it is not 
his fault ! ” 

“ I wish the Mortons were coming ! ” again said the starling, 
the handkerchief having fallen down in the bustle occasioned by 
this unexpected visitor. 

“ I think, my dear,” said the mother, in her quiet way, “ that 
the Mortons are coming to surprise us, after all.” 

“ Oh, yes, papa,” chimed in the young ones ; “ pray let them 
come.” 



But though the children kept watching by turns at the window, 
and fancying every minute they heard the sound of wheels, no 


52 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


carriage drove up to the door. So it became clear that Csesar had 
come entirely of his own head, as he knew nothing of the differences 
between the families, and cared less. And, indeed, we are bound to 
say that he was very hospitably treated, not only by the children 
but even by their father, who could not resist feeding him at dinner; 
and at night he went to sleep in his old quarters in an empty kennel, 
that was called, emphatically, “ Csesar’s house.” 

The following day was Christmas. The children still kept 
hoping that the Mortons must come, since Csesar was there ; and 
were romping with him much after their accustomed fashion, when 
the sound of the bell at the gate made them attentive. Their four 
little heads were in an instant all looking out of window. Could it 
be? No — yes — it was Mr. Morton ! Mamma was giving orders 
in the house, and papa was in the garden on the other side of the 
house, and the aunts and uncles were each in their chamber, so that 
nobody but the children were in the sitting-room when Mr. Morton 
was shewn in. He had come prepared with a grave face and man- 
ner, but when the little ones gathered round him with artless joy, 
and he saw his dog domesticated as usual, and heard the starling 
crying out repeatedly, “ I wish the Mortons were coming ! ” some- 
thing very like a tear arose to his eye, and he stooped down to kiss 
his little welcomers, while Caesar kept running round and round, 
barking and jumping on every one in turn. 

The door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Finch stood for a while 
speechless as they gazed upon the group. 

“ Neighbour,” said Mr. Morton, as soon as he could disengage 
himself from the eight arms twined about him, “ this — this is kind 
of you. I confess I didn’t expect you would have taught your 
starling to say ■” 

“ I didn’t teach him,” said Mr. Finch, with flushed cheek, and 
trying to assume a distant air ; “ I don’t know how he learnt it. 
But I will say, neighbour,” added he, more gently, seeing that his 
wife was vexed at his harshness to their visitor, — “ it was friendly 
of you to let the dog come to play with my youngsters.” 

“ He came of himself,” said Mr. Morton, smiling ; “ you know 
animals bear no resentment.” 

" Nor have we shewn him any,” quickly rejoined Mr. Finch. 

"Well, I’m glad he came,” said Mr. Morton, "if it was only to 
oblige me to come and fetch him, which has enabled me to see your 
wife and my young friends : besides, I think your starling and my 
dog deserved to make acquaintance with each other.”- 


THE DOG’S CHRISTMAS VISIT. 


53 


Mr. Finch was silent. Mrs. Finch pointed to a chair, begging 
Mr. Morton to rest after his long ride, and inquired after his wife 
and children. After answering her questions in the same friendly 
spirit as formerly, but without accepting the proffered seat, he judged 
it was time to put an end to so awkward a scene, and therefore said : 

“ Come, Caesar — come.” 

But Csesar paid no attention to the summons; and, indeed, as 
Tommy was riding on his back, and the others were surrounding 
him, he had no notion of going away just then. 

“ Csesar ! — Csesar ! ” reiterated his master, authoritatively. 

“ Children, let him go ! ” said Mr. Finch, no less imperiously. 

“ I’ll ride home with Mr. Morton,” cried Tommy, endeavouring 
to keep his seat firmly. 

Mr. Finch lifted Tommy off to leave the dog unbiassed in his 
movements, and motioned his children not to touch him. Csesar 
retreated to the rug and sat do # wn, as much as to say to his master 
that he liked his quarters and did not mean to shift them just 
then. None of the three grown persons could help smiling. Had 
Csesar been endowed with speech, he could not have manifested his 
resolution more intelligibly. 

Mr. Finch’s resentment and determination of keeping up a dig- 
nified coldness was rapidly melting, and at last he exclaimed: 

"Well, then, since the mountain won’t come to Mahomet, 
Mahomet must come to the mountain ! So, neighbour, fetch your 
family ; you see there is no resisting — the conqueror Csesar ! ” 

“ Ha !” cried Mr. Morton, joyously extending his hand, "this 
will be our merriest Christmas, neighbour. Yes, I’ll fetch them 
all. And do you know what ? It is a pity a field should divide us, 
so let us divide the field. You shall take the half next your estate ; 
and as you are such a famous man for drains, I am sure my portion 
will be the gainer by the bargain. But we’ll talk of this by 
and by.” 

Mr. Finch pressed his hand silently, while little Rosa crept up 
to her mother’s side, and said, in a low voice : 

" Was that the plaything papa and Mr. Morton were quarrelling 
about ?” 

The harmony between the families was never again disturbed ; 
and as long as Csesar lived he paid his Christmas visit to his friends, 
whom, as all parties were pleased to acknowledge, he had been the 
means of reconciling to their neighbours. 


54 


THE GOLDFINCHES. 


THE GOLDFINCHES. 

In a village in a far-distant country, the children of a peasant 
were perpetually teasing him to divide his property amongst them, 
promising at the same time to support him in ease and comfort for 
the rest of his days. The man put off giving any answer for two 
months, during which time he requested his children to pay atten- 
tion to what he was about to do. He then took a nest of gold- 
finches, and put the young ones into a cage, which was hung out- 
side the window. He bid his children remark how regularly the 
parents came to bring them food, which they thrust through the 
bars of the cage, and watched over them, so that they should want 
for nothing. 

When the young ones grew old enough to take care of them- 
selves our peasant caught the parents, and put them into the cage 
in the place of their children, whom he suffered to go at large. 
The goldfinches took such little heed of their parents that they let 
them die of hunger, for the cage was unprovided with food. The 
peasant then said to his children, who severely reprobated the 
ingratitude of the young birds , — “ My children, you see we must 
never depend on the tenderness of our offspring. These little birds 
have just given a striking example to that effect. And remember 
that we, human beings, are very often even inferior to animals in 
kindly feelings.” 

The children of this sensible man never said a word more on 
their favourite subject. 


















Boys Sliding on the Ice « 






BOYS SLIDING ON THE ICE. 


57 


BOYS SLIDING ON THE ICE. 

BY MARY ROBERTS. 

What scene is more beautiful than that presented by a winter 
morning, when snow lies heavy on the ground, clear and sparkling? 
Branches meet above our heads in this quiet lane, forming a natu- 
ral arcade, wherein all sounds are hushed, except when some small 
shivering bird hops from spray to spray, and causes the frozen par- 
ticles of snow to fall with a tinkling sound on the hard ground be- 
neath. Beside the pathway flows, silently and swiftly, a quiet 
stream, as if fearful of becoming frost-bound, till having reached 
the small mill-dam, it will dash on the restless wheels, flashing and 
whirling, with a slight and hazy mist. That mill-dam, with its 
high, dark banks, and old piles of wood, had heretofore little of 
beauty to commend it, but now, magnificent icicles depend from 
every jutting point ; and sparkling trees and shrubs droop to the 
water’s edge. And here and there, around some hole which time or 
the water-rat has made in the worn bank, transparent pillars cluster 
in their beauty, and uphold a glittering roof, beneath which a 
mimic grotto, fretted and embossed, reflects the colours of the 
rainbow, and looks as if gemmed with precious stones. The partial 
thaw of yesterday, succeeded by a severe frost, has produced the 
wondrous change. 

It is pleasant to be abroad. Let us go on to Hanwell Green, 
with its large pond in the centre. The contiguous cottages have 
sent forth a joyous company, and we shall hear their merry voices 
as they slide upon the frozen surface. There stand the cottages 
with their roofs and window-sills, their pumps and palings, all 
white and hoary. And trees of every description, from the smallest 
sapling to the old memorial chestnut, beneath which men with 
high-crowned hats and doublets talked in the days of bluff King 
Harry, glitter with hoar frost. 

Those boys slide well ! Observe the lightness of their move- 
ments, and how at first starting the most agile slightly incline to 
one side, then to the other, till in a moment they shoot away with 
a swift and winning motion. Look at that boy ! he has a basket 
on his head, but it seems not to concern him. How admirably he 
balances himself among the sliders ! his erect figure and considerate 
face seem an earnest that he, at least, has no fear of accident. Yet 


i 


58 


BOYS SLIDING ON THE ICE. 


xnethinks, if dame Atkins, at the crockery and cake shop, was to 
see her truant errand-boy sliding instead of walking, she would 
have some anxious misgivings with regard to her basket of small 
wares. 

Slide on, happy boys ! and take your fill of gladness. You 
know not what hindrances beset your brethren amid the stir and 
hum of crowded streets, when with light hearts and glowing faces 
they seek to dart along the frozen surface of the ice; nor yet how 
stealthily they contrive to get a slide in some quiet crescent or 
street that turns out of the great thoroughfares, eyeing, it may he, 
with side-long glance, a tall policeman, who walks steadily on, 
looking straight before him. Perhaps he is thinking of something 
else, or, more probably, he has boys at home who love to slide. 

But when all water-pipes are frozen, and the turncock begins to 
pull up his plugs, and the small temporary wooden pumps are 
visited by troops of serving-maidens from the neighbouring houses, 
with cups and buckets, gossiping and laughing, and slipping at 
every step, should the water that runs over and spreads between 
the curb-stones and carriage-way become frozen, oh, then it is joy- 
ful ! Groups of urchins, no one forbidding them, slide to their 
hearts’ content ; for neither men nor horses venture on such a 
slippery kind of pavement. And surely, amid the stunning tide 

il Of human care and crime,” 

it is cheering to hear the laughs and merry voices of beings intent 
only on enjoyment. 

Lights and shades chequer all conditions ; they fall even on 
half-way men, and diversify the smooth surface of a well-formed 
slide. 

Passing one day, towards evening, through a quiet suburb of 
London, I observed five or six boys sliding right joyfully along the 
footway. No policeman was in sight ; no small tradesmen vending 
their wares from door to door; nor yet a passenger with a stout oaken 
staff. The snow that fell at noon, and half melted in the sun, was 
frozen hard, and those who were abroad trod warily beside the 
pavement. 

Merrily went on the boys, regardless of the accidents they 
might occasion, and one young neighbour joined them, then an- 
other; till at length a door quietly opened, and forth came a worthy 
dame, carrying a shovel, with the contents of which she began to 
strew the pavement. " Oh, bless you, mistress, don’t spoil the 


PUSS AND THE CHICKENS. 


59 


slide \” cried all the boys at once. But the dame took no heed. 
They again sought her forbearance. All to no purpose. She did 
not even condescend to answer them, and her labours silently pro- 
ceeded, till, instead of a long, smooth, level surface, was seen a 
trail of black dust and cinders. Passers-by looked on and laughed. 
Some even said, “ Well done, mistress !” thinking, no doubt, as did 
that wary matron, of the accident which happened the day before, 
when James Saunders, the father of a large family living in a 
neighbouring street, fell on a similar slide and broke his leg. 



PUSS AND THE CHICKENS. 

Pussy, what are you about ? 

Let our chickies eat the bread. 
Chanticleer will, I’ve no doubt, 

Peck your eyes from out your head 
If you dare attempt to steal 

A chicken for your morning meal. 
Therefore, pussy, run away, 

And hunt for mice among the hay 


60 


THE COCK AND HEN WHO WENT A-NUTTING. 



THE COCK AND HEN WHO WENT A-NUTTING. 

Eew of our young readers but remember bearing in their 
childhood the story of the woman who, on coming back from 
market, implores the aid of so many inanimate objects, in order to 
attain the desired object of getting “ piggy ” home, till at length, 
probably tired out by her entreaties, “ the grease began to grease 
the rope,” &c. The following legend shews that a similar story 
w r as told to amuse little children in Norway, probably long before it 
became nationalised in England ; which only affords another proof 
that popular stories are nearly identical all over Europe, only 
modified to suit the tastes, habits, superstitions, and peculiarities of 
each individual nation. 

A cock and his hen once went a-nutting in a copse. The hen 
happened to swallow a nut-shell that stuck in her throat, and as she 
lay struggling and flapping her wings, the cock thought he would 
run and fetch some water from a neighbouring stream. So, on 
reaching the stream, he said, “ Stream, give me some water, that I 
may give some water to my darling hen who is lying half dead in 
the hazel-nut copse.” 



THE COCK AND HEN WHO WENT A-NUTTING. 61 

But the stream answered : “ I shall give you no water till you 
fetch me some leaves.” 

Then the cock ran to a linden-tree, and said, “ Linden-tree, give 
me some leaves, that I may give the leaves to the stream, that the 
stream may give me water, that I may give the water to my darling 
hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall not give you any leaves till you give me a red and gold 
riband,” answered the linden- tree. 

Then the cock ran to St. Mary, and said, “ St. Mary, give me 
a red and gold riband, that I may give the riband to the linden-tree, 
that the linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may give the leaves 
to the stream, that the stream may give me water, that I may give 
the water to my darling hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut 
copse.” 

“I shall give you no red and gold riband,” said St. Mary, 
“ unless you give me a pair of shoes.” 

So the cock ran to the shoemaker’s, and said, “ Shoemaker, 
give me a pair of shoes, that I may give the shoes to St. Mary, who 
will give me a red and gold riband, that I may give the riband to 
the linden-tree, that the linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may 
give the leaves to the stream, that the stream may give me water, 
that I may give the water to my darling hen who lies half dead in 
the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no shoes, unless you give me some bristles,” 
answered the shoemaker. 

Then the cock ran off to seek a wild boar, and said to him, 
“ Boar, give me some bristles, that I may give the bristles to the 
shoemaker, that the shoemaker may give me shoes, that I may give 
the shoes to St. Mary, that St. Mary may give me a red and gold 
riband, that I may give the riband to the linden-tree, that the 
linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may give the leaves to the 
stream, that the Stream may give me water, that I may give the 
water to my darling hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no bristles unless you give me some corn,” 
answered the boar. 

So the cock ran to the thresher. “ Thresher,” said he, “give me 
some corn, that I may give the corn to the boar, that the boar may 
give me bristles, that I may give the bristles to the shoemaker, that 
the shoemaker may give me shoes, that I may give the shoes to St. 
Mary, that St. Mary may give me a red and gold riband, that I may 
give the riband to the linden-tree, that the linden-tree may give me 


62 


THE COCK AND HEN WHO WENT A-NUTTING. 


leaves, that I may give the leaves to the stream, that the stream may 
give me water, that I may give the water to my darling hen who 
lies half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no corn unless you give me some bread,” an- 
swered the thresher. 

Then the cock ran to the baker's, and said, “ Baker, give me 
some bread, that I may give the bread to the thresher, that the 
thresher may give me corn, that I may give the corn to the boar, 
that the boar may give me bristles, that I may give the bristles to 
the shoemaker, that the shoemaker may give me shoes, that I may 
give the shoes to St. Mary, that St. Mary may give me a red and 
gold riband, that I may give the riband to the linden-tree, that the 
linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may give the leaves to the 
stream, that the stream may give me water, that I may give the 
water to my darling hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no bread till you give me wood,” answered 
the baker. 

The cock then ran to find a woodcutter, and said to him, 
“ Woodcutter, give me wood, that I may give wood to the baker, 
that the baker may give me some bread, that I may give the bread 
to the thresher, that the thresher may give me some corn, that I 
may give the corn to the boar, that the boar may give me bristles, 
that I may give the bristles to the shoemaker, that the shoemaker 
may give me shoes, that I may give the shoes to St. Mary, that St. 
Mary may give me a red and gold riband, that I may give the riband 
to the linden-tree, that the linden-tree may give me leaves, that I 
may give the leaves to the stream, that the stream may give me 
some water, that I may give the water to my darling hen who lies 
half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no wood till you give me an axe,” answered 
the woodcutter. 

So the cock ran to the blacksmith's, and Said, “ Blacksmith, 
give me an axe, that I may give the axe to the woodcutter, that the 
.woodcutter may give me some wood, that I may give the wood 
to the baker, that the baker may give me some bread, that I may 
give the bread to the thresher, that the thresher may give me some 
corn, that I may give the corn to the boar, that the boar may give 
me some bristles, that I may give the bristles to the shoemaker, 
that the shoemaker may give me some shoes, that I may give the 
shoes to St. Mary, that St. Mary may give me a red and gold 
riband, that I may give the riband to the linden-tree, that the 


swallows’ nests 


63 


linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may give the leaves to the 
stream, that the stream may give me water, that I may give the 
water to my darling hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut copse.” 

“ I shall give you no axe unless you give me some coals,” an- 
swered the blacksmith. 

Then the cock ran to find a collier, and said to him, “ Collier, 
give me some coals, that I may give the coals to the blacksmith, 
that the blacksmith may give me an axe, that I may give the axe to 
the woodcutter, that the woodcutter may give me some wood, that 
I may give the wood to the baker, that the baker may give me some 
bread, that I may give the bread to the thresher, that the 
thresher may give me some corn, that I may give the corn to the 
boar, that the boar may give me some bristles, that I may give the 
bristles to the shoemaker, that the shoemaker may give me shoes, 
that I may give the shoes to St. Mary, that St. Mary may give me 
a red and gold riband, that I may give the riband to the linden-tree, 
that the linden-tree may give me leaves, that I may give the leaves 
to the stream, that the stream may give me water, that I may give 
the water to my darling hen who lies half dead in the hazel-nut 
copse.” 

The collier took pity on the cock, and gave him some coals. 
And now the blacksmith got coals, the woodcutter an axe, the 
baker wood, the thresher bread, the boar corn, the shoemaker 
bristles, St. Mary shoes, the linden-tree a red and gold riband, the 
stream leaves, and the cock got his water, which he gave to his 
darling hen who was lying half dead in the hazel-nut copse. And 
the hen soon grew well again. 


SWALLOWS’ NESTS. 

The swallow — that pretty bird with its white breast and black 
back, that comes every spring to take up its abode in our chimneys or 
in some snug cornerunder a projecting roof — delights in sunshine and 
warm weather. Indeed, swallows are quite like fair-weather friends, 
for no sooner come the dull days of October, bringing damp, and 
fog, and rain, than they begin to think of departing for a more 
favoured clime. One family joins another till the body of emi- 
grants is completed ; and with an experienced old swallow at their 
head, they then fly away to Spain or Italy, and lastly to the still 
warmer regions of Africa. Occasionally, on crossing the sea, they 
grow exhausted, and the poor tired little travellers are glad to rest 


64 


swallows’ nests. 


on the masts and in the rigging of vessels, and it is rare indeed 
when sailors either hurt them or drive them away — nay, they are 
generally delighted at this reminiscence of the woods and fields of 
their distant home. On the return of spring the little tourists 
again assemble and wend their way back to Europe, and such is 
their instinct that each knows how to find his nest, far better than 
we should be able to go straight to our home, supposing it situated 
in a country without high-roads, sign-posts, or names to its villages. 
The younger ones who are going to begin housekeeping then set 
to collecting bits of straw, feathers, horse-hair, and damp clay, 
which easily adheres to the angles of a building. Others build 
their nests between two closely-turned branches, others in the midst 



of a hedge. But houses built in the Elizabethan style, with their 
elaborate chimneys and gable ends, afford the snuggest nooks for 
the little strangers, who generally become welcome guests to the 
inmates. Many hail them from a superstitious feeling, others from 
a wholesome notion of the rights of hospitality. We have known 
those who, when painting and embellishing their houses, would on 
no account allow the swallows’ nests to be disturbed. From what- 
ever cause it may spring, the feeling is a good one, and we should 
like to see it extended more generally to all of God’s creatures. Be 
sure that the man who is kind to a swallow can never be a brute or 
a churl to his fellow-men. 






A Night on the Hills . 



A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


67 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


BY MRS. HARRIET MYRTLE. 


One fine afternoon in September a party of tourists, accom- 
panied by a guide, all in bigb spirits and full of enjoyment, began 
to make the descent of one of the highest mountains in the west 
of Scotland. They had lingered on the summit longer than they 
intended, from their delight at the splendid view; but now they 
began running, clambering, and sliding down in good earnest. 
They were four in number, — Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, and their son 
and daughter, Arthur and Helen. They were used to hills, for 
their home w T as in Wales ; but the grandeur of the scenery here 
was new to them, and they often stopped to rest and admire the 
beautiful views, varying at every step. These rests, however, were 
generally cut short by their guide, who warned them that they had 
a long way to go, and that they ought to get back to their inn 
before sunset, for fear of the mist coming on. 

“Do pray stop one minute more, dear mamma!” cried Helen 
on one of these occasions, “ I want a few roots of the creeping 
cistus ; ” and she ran on among a number of broken rocks, digging 
up the roots with her knife, and filling her basket as she went. 
Arthur, meanwhile, was taking a hasty sketch. 

Helen was allured from one rock to another by the wild plants, 
many of them new to her, and it was not till her basket would hold 
no more that she set off to join the rest of the party. She ran on 
in the direction, as she thought, that she had come ; but, turning 
round a point of rock where she expected to find them, she was 
surprised at seeing that nobody was near. She called Arthur ; but 
received no answer. “ Oh, I turned the wrong way !” she thought, 
and started off along another path ; but she got confused among 
the rocks, and scarcely knew which way to take. She clambered 
up a high peak in hopes of seeing them ; but she found that there was 
a deep ravine or cleft on the other side of it, and a higher peak 
beyond. Here she thought she heard a shout, which seemed to 
come from an opposite direction ; but it was impossible to cross the 
ravine, and she tried to run along its edge and find a passage some- 
where. Still she ran as fast as she could, and again turned a 
corner where she persuaded herself she should see them ; but no, 
she was quite alone. 


68 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


place, now first occurred to her, and filled her with thrilling fear. 
She turned pale, and her head became giddy. The basket fell from 
her hand, and she sank down on the grass and gave way to a flood of 
tears. Then starting up, she called out for help loudly and wildly ; 
but all in vain. 

Helen was about thirteen. She was strong and active, used to 
exercise, and of high spirit and courage. Her mother had fostered 
these natural qualities, and trained her to habits of endurance and 
promptitude in action. She therefore was able, after the first feel- 
ing of dread had passed over her, to compose herself, and to think 
what it was best to do. “ They will seek me in every direction,” 
she thought. “ Poor papa and Arthur, and dear mamma!” — the 
tears flowed afresh as she thought of them, — “and if I keep run- 
ning about they may miss me constantly. I will sit quite still. It 
is the only thing I can do.” She kept her resolution, and remained 
seated on a block of stone for what seemed to her a very long time, 
often shouting as loud as she was able, but still in vain. 

A bright crimson glow now spread all around. The sun was 
setting. Helen rose hastily. “ I must try to find the way alone,” 
she thought. “I must wait no longer.” She hurried on in a 
slanting direction downwards. To go straight was impossible, from 
the steepness. As she went it seemed to her that her eyesight 
began to fail. The feeling increased. Every thing grew dim. 
Another minute, and every thing was hidden from her view. She 
was enveloped in a thick mountain mist. Still she hurried nerv- 
ously on, stumbled over a large stone, lost her footing, and fell 
down a considerable height. 

She lay for a short time stunned; but on recovering, found that 
she was not seriously hurt, and that some thick bush had caught 
her and broken her fall. It was now quite dark. She could not 
see her own hand as she held it before her face. She did not know 
whether the bush on which she rested was on level or sloping 
ground, or on the face of a precipice. She did not dare to move ; 
but the cold was so intense that she felt benumbed. 

“I shall die alone in this dismal place !” — this thought arose 
mher. “ I shall never see my dear papa and mamma, nor my dar- 
ling Arthur, again ! ” But these names brought with them courage 
as well as sorrow ; and the lessons of love and faith which she had 
ireceived from her parents from infancy upwards came to strengthen 
her. “ I am not alone,” she thought. “He is with me, without 
whom a sparrow does not fall to the ground.” And she repeated 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


69 


to herself that fine psalm which begins, “ Whither shall I go from 
Thy Spirit, or whither shall I flee from Thy presence ? If I go up 
into heaven, Thou art there ; if I go down into the grave, beholdi 
Thou art there \ ” She clasped her hands and prayed for strength 
and help — help for herself and for the dear friends whom her heed- 
lessness had exposed to such anguish as she knew they were 
enduring. 

Her prayer was interrupted by the sound of many feet approach- 
ing. She listened with a beating heart. They came nearer. Some- 
thing shook the branch on which she leaned. Something brushed 
so close by her as to touch her dress. It was a large flock of sheep, 
as she soon discovered by the bleating. They passed in long suc- 
cession, one at a time, for many minutes. 

It was certain, then, that she was close to a path wide enough 
to walk on. This was like deliverance from death, for she could 
not have borne the icy cold much longer. She rose softly as the 
last of the sheep passed, and followed the line closely and cautiously, 
clinging by one hand to what seemed a wall of rock on one side of 
her. After following her gentle guides in this manner for a long 
distance, — it seemed to her nearly a mile, — she became conscious 
that they spread over some open place, and began to graze. She 
was, therefore, obliged to stop ; but she tried to keep among them, 
and to move her limbs continually, to keep up some warmth. 

The wind now rose in gusts, and added to her distress. It 
blew violently at intervals, so that she could scarcely stand against 
it. She longed to lie down on the grass and fall asleep ; but she 
remembered having read stories of wanderers who, having yielded 
to drowsiness in great cold, never woke again. 

Suddenly a ray of light from above made her raise her eyes. 
Oh, blessed sight ! she saw the moon overhead, and in another 
moment she could distinguish the grass beneath her feet. The 
mist was driving away before the wind, and all around her was 
Hear. To her eyes, long used to total darkness, it now seemed like 
broad day. Behind she could see the path by which she had come. 
It was a narrow ledge, cut by art or nature in the face of a pre- 
cipice, the top of which towered up towards the sky, and the base 
of which was lost in what looked like a sea of mist. Again a silent 
prayer — and this time it was one of thanksgiving — filled her heart, 
as she saw the peril through which she had passed. She looked 
with a tender and grateful feeling at the sheep so quietly grazing 
all round her, and then walked quickly forwards, along a narrow 


TO 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


green valley tnat stretched before her, in the full hope that it 
would lead to some sheep-farm or cottage. 

Walking briskly on in this manner, and always down hill, she 
turned a jutting point of rock, and suddenly saw a bright light just 
in front of her, though evidently at some distance. “ The inn ! 
the inn!” she exclaimed half aloud; “they have lighted it up to 
guide me. I shall see them again ! ” She now ran. Sometimes she 
lost sight of the light in the windings of the path ; then she saw it 
again. At last another point hid it from her for some minutes, 
and she could not help feeling afraid that it had vanished like some- 
thing in a dream; but when she turned the point, there it was 
quite plain. But it was no inn. Helen stood still with the sudden 
shock. It w T as a cottage on fire. The flames burst from the thatched 
roof and from a little window at one side. 

To the first feeling of surprise succeeded one of horror. “ Are 
there any people in that cottage ?” she thought ; “ are they already 
burnt to death or still asleep ? ” She rushed up to the door ; it 
was fastened. She shook it violently, and cried “Fire ! — fire ! Is 
anyone here?” She was answered by loud screams and the crying 
of children ; and in a moment the door burst open, and a woman in 
her night-clothes, carrying a baby, followed by two almost naked 
children, rushed out; but having stared wildly round, she put 
down the baby, and tried to go in again. This w~as, however, 
impossible. The draught of air had increased the fire, and the 
flames drove her back. Shrieking out many words in Gaelic (the 
Highland language), she ran to the back of the cottage, and with a 
stone broke to pieces a little window, and loudly called the names 
of Robert and Donald. Receiving no answer, she tried to force 
her way in ; but the window was too small. Helen, who had 
closely followed her, instantly pulled off her shawl and bonnet, and 
trying to calm the wretched mother by a gesture, clambered up 
and squeezed herself through the narrow opening. The room was 
full of stifling smoke ; but groping about, she felt the faces of two 
children in a corner. It was vain to shake or call them ; so she 
dragged first one and then the other to the window, where they 
were received by their mother and pulled out, and Helen followed 
as quickly as she could. The fresh air soon recovered the two 
boys, who had been nearly suffocated ; and when the mother saw 
all her children safe, she poured out earnest thanks to Helen, 
accompanied by many tears; and though the words were unintelli- 
gible, the feeling was clear. 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


71 


This poor family had now nothing to do hut to sit close 
together, shivering in the cold night, and watch their home 
burning and falling in ruins. Fortunately, the blanket that had 
covered the boys had been dragged out with them, and with this 
Helen covered up the shivering group, and seated herself close 
beside them, wrapped up in her shawl. The burning cottage threw 
out a great heat. Fatigue and hunger quite overcame her at last; 
and after one thought of her dear friends, and one wish that she 
could but tell them “ I am safe,” she fell fast asleep. 

She was roused by the loud barking of a dog and the voice 
of a man, and the whole party rising; and soon perceived that the 
father of the family had returned. There were hasty embraces, 
lamentations, rejoicings, and then she saw that she had become the 
subject of the story. The man came near to her, and began to 
thank her for all she had done in fervent language, and, to her joy, 
in words that she could understand. To his expressions of wonder 
at her appearance among them, she quickly replied by relating her 
adventure, and asked him to direct her to the inn where she so 
longed to be. 

He thought for a moment, then drew from his pocket a piece 
of oatcake, which he bid her eat, and then running to a stream, 
brought her water in a wooden vessel. * She pointed to the children, 
but he said, “Na, na; I hae mair, and ta shildren had a good 
supper afore they fell asleep on this awfu' nicht. Eat it a ' ; ye'll 
need it afore ye get hame.'' 

Helen then ate and drank what he had given her, and felt 
wonderfully refreshed by it. Meanwhile she saw that Donald (for 
so his wife called him) had pulled off his warm shepherd's plaid 
and wrapt it in addition over his family, and that, at a few words 
from him, his sagacious collie dog had stretched itself at their feet. 
Donald then told her he was ready to go with her. 

Helen scrupled again. She said she could not bear to take him 
away from his wife and children. 

“ And ye think I wadna gang a thousand miles wi' ye, or for 
ye, my leddy ? — and this is but twa. I wad ha' been a lone man, 
wifeless and childless, but for ye. Donald will see ye safe in your 
mither's arms before the sun rise, so please Him who sent ye to 
save the wife and bairns this nicht.'' 

Helen could say no more. She bade farewell to her late com- 
panions and set forth with him, her heart divided between the 
desire to be indeed in her “ mother's arms,'' and to be able to send 

II 


72 


A NIGHT ON THE HILLS. 


some help to these poor desolate fellow-beings. The path was rough, 
but Donald guided her with extreme care, often lifting her over difficult 
places. At last he begged her to let him carry her, saying she was 
as light as a feather. The moon had now gone down, but the first 
dawn of morning was visible, and Donald told her they were near 
the end of their journey. 

He had hardly said so before they met a man, who addressed a 
few words to him, and on receiving his answer, fired a pistol in the 
air. The sound was answered by another, and then another, at 
different distances. Helen perceived that these were signals of her 
recovery. “ They hear the signal ; they are out seeking me : they 
know I am coming,” she thought. A minute more, and there was 
a hurried step, a stifled cry, and she was in her mother's arms. 

The joy was almost too great for both; Donald had to help 
them into the house. Helen was soon laid on a bed, but she could 
take no rest nor refreshment till she had first satisfied herself that 
her mother had not suffered so much as to have been made ill, and 
that her father and Arthur would hear the signals and be sure to come 
soon, and that Donald’s story was heard and his poor family sent for. 
Mrs. Edwards soon understood it all ; and after giving some direc- 
tions told her to sleep happily, for that warm beds and a good 
breakfast were preparing, and that Donald would soon be off to the 
hill again with two or three stout Highland ponies, loaded with 
cloaks and plaids, to bring them all safe to the inn. Helen smiled, 
and tried to go to sleep, but sleep would not come till she had seen 
her papa and Arthur really and truly standing by her bed. 

It was late next day when she awoke. But then she heard that 
all had gone oti well ; that “ the wife and bairns ” were safe in the 
house, already comfortably clothed by contributions from the people 
of the inn, and the few neighbours about ; and that her papa had 
given Donald some money, which, increased by a subscription from 
other visitors there, would be amply sufficient to rebuild and fur- 
nish his cottage. 

Helen was soon sufficiently recovered from her fatigue to pro- 
ceed on her journey homewards, but she never forgot her night on 
the hills. 







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